Light's Night
by Yradel
Summary: Sometimes the discrepancies between the timelines are on a grand scale.  A war is never fought.  A tactician meets his other half too early.  A princess grows up killing the living for the dead.  AU, M!RobinxLucina, one-sided GrimaxLucina. Told from several characters' viewpoints.
1. Chapter 1

A/N Just a new thing I'm trying out. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

The crux about parallel timelines was just that. There are multiple. Hundreds, thousands, infinite. The defining feature of each timeline is that one difference. It could be small and insignificant, such as a certain pebble on an isolated road being placed two centimeters right of where it is in a parallel universe. More often than not however, the discrepancy is on a grand scale: a war is never fought. A tactician meets his other half too early. A princess grows up taking the lives of her subjects for the dead.

Things get messy then.

* * *

Life was simple under her master's care.

Each morning started before the sun came up. In the early hours before dawn, she aroused herself from the cloys of sleep, making sure to splash cold water on her face for a complete wake-up. This was followed by a brisk morning run around the grounds: five laps under normal conditions, seven laps when she was feeling particularly energetic, and twelve when her master was displeased. Breakfast followed, which was usually composed of bread made from whatever grain had been scrounged up from recent battles, and a small cup of milk from one of the few remaining living cows under her master.

As the afternoon would approach, she would be sent to her teacher, a woman no more than ten years her senior. Despite her age however, her teacher was a prodigy, a genius tactician in her own right. The woman was well-versed in all the human languages of Valm, Ylisse, and Plegia, as well as other obscure dialects of the living. She was talented in the arcane as well as swordsmanship, and she knew how to take advantage of her surroundings to gain the upper hand. Of course, no one would expect anything less than that of the master's daughter. The girl knew she was lucky to be under the tutelage of someone so accomplished and so trusted by the master.

Nighttime would then fall, and, tired and sore from her afternoon training with her teacher, the young girl was all but ready to pass out. But every month, there was still one last task to complete before the day was truly over, and that was to report to her master. The thought alone of seeing him was enough to push the girl past her exhaustion and personal qualms, for to her, her master…

He was everything to her. He was her master, confidant, savior, light in the darkness. When those Ylissean savages burned her parents and robbed her of everything, he had been the one to save her from the ashes and take her under his wing. From infancy to present, he was all she ever knew. Ever since she could remember, he had been the one constant in her life.

Before each meeting, she would try to make herself presentable before meeting him. Usually her navy blue hair was manageable enough, only needing a quick brushing before the strands fell straight and into and their places. The clothes were easily swapped for a fresh replacement after a brief bath.

Her face was a different issue. Her master did not approve of her face, or rather, he did not approve of her eyes. He said that her left eye was cursed with the brand of the enemy, so he provided her with a special concoction to diminish its power. The potion was a vile black, the color of tar, and was to be taken once a week to sustain the effects. It tasted as disgusting as it looked, but with a pinch to the nose, the young girl would always down the liquid. As a result, her eyes faded into a dull steel shade and she would be ready to meet her master.

At eight o'clock sharp, their meeting took place. He would have just finished his meeting with the army commanders. His daughter would be stationed at his right hand side to offer her insight on the previously discussed tactics as well as give information on the girl's education and training. Her eyes never strayed from the man at the head of the table though.

Sitting there, he always looked so regal, though not in the gaudy way of those that don't deserve it. A quiet air of power surrounded the man in only simple clothes covered with a Grimleal cloak. The marks on the cloak exuded an ancient power associated with the Fell Dragon and she always felt a bit of awe just looking at them.

Today's meeting was different however. Her master's expression was one of thoughtfulness as he examined his charge.

"Step forward," he murmured softly, just loud enough for his voice to carry across the room. His elbows were propped up against the arms of his chair, hands clasped thoughtfully against his lips. Silently the girl complied. Behind hair white as snow, her master's hazel eyes examined her every movement. She stopped four feet away from him.

"Morgan tells me you've progressed much since our last meeting. Swordsmanship and battle tactics-you've apparently become quite skilled in the art of war," her master began conversationally. The girl was quick to respond. "I still have much to learn," she responded humbly, head bowed slightly while watching for her master's reaction. When he didn't reply immediately, she gathered up her courage and continued, "I am sure, however, that I can truly advance out in real battle. Send me to lead a Risen assault against these petty human resistances and-"

He raised a hand. "When was the last time you've asked to be sent to the battlefront? How old were you?" he asked. "Last year," she said. "I was sixteen. I am now seventeen."

At this her master looked slightly surprised. Next to him, Morgan glanced worriedly at her father, an action that didn't go unnoticed by the girl. It took some restraint to keep from biting her lip, a habit that she fell back on when contemplating something.

After a long pause and with an unreadable expression on his face, her master said, "very well then. I should put your training to use then against these mongrels." The girl's eyes widened at his acceptance, but he continued, "Though their forces weaken day by day, new groups have sprung up along the southern areas of Ylisse. I need someone to take care of these insurgents and I can't waste any of my best commanders on such petty battles. I leave it to you."

At this, the girl grinned with pride at the task and chance to prove herself. "Thank you Master Grima!" She bowed. "You will not regret this!"

His deep brown eyes never left her as he slowly responded, "I look forward to hearing of your victories, Adriane. Dismissed."

Adriane gave Master Grima another quick bow, happiness apparent even through her dull eyes. She turned and walked out the hallway doors, but not before she caught a snatch of conversation between her master and teacher.

"...looks more and more like her every day," Master Grima was saying. He did not sound like the fearless leader she had grown to worship him as, rather like a man lost. However, Adriane disregarded the thought as a figment of her imagination.

Yes, a life under her master's care was a simple one. But simple didn't repay debts. Venturing out, aiding her master's and her dead parents' cause, that was a life worth pursuing. With that in mind, Adriane carried on in anticipation of the next step in her life.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N So much foundation to lay out. How bothersome that I never really got the formatting of the chapters the way I want it. Thanks for the support anyways. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its parallel timeline versions.

* * *

Outside, a storm raged. Rain pattered on old cobblestones in need of repair, and the fresh body that lay on top of them. A redheaded woman gritted her teeth at the sight, but composed herself enough to send away the nearby children before they saw. Once they were gone, she unsheathed her sword and silently launched herself at the walking cadavers.

In the royal war room of Ylisstol, the reigning prince sat before a grand circle table. On the surface of it were maps of all sizes that detailed all aspects of the war against Plegia. Each map revealed something about the enemy or their allies-their positions, their numbers, and their battles strategies. Countless Ylisseans, Valmese, and Regna Feroxians sacrificed their lives for this information. All evidence of their effort were present in the numerous dotted lines, hashes, arrows, x's, and o's.

It was not enough.

Day by day the power of Grima grew stronger against the ever dwindling forces of Naga. In their conquest across Ylisse, the Grima's commanders and their Risen torched land and people alike. Famine was widespread for those who could not hold their ground against the initial waves, and after nearly two decades of unceasing assault, the realm was a realm only by name. All of this information… it was worthless without people to take advantage of it.

Groaning for the umpteenth time, Inigo slouched back into his chair. He ran a hand through his dark blue hair, simultaneously wiping the sweat from his forehead. Glancing back at the maps, he once more continued his inner musings.

'The outer wall is understaffed as it is, but maybe a few could be pulled off duty for a reconnaissance mission on one of the new Plegian forts…' he scratched his jaw thoughtfully at the idea before banishing it. 'No, the patrol guards are ill-suited for stealth jobs. Perhaps a frontal assault?' He examined the weaponry available and reviewed what he knew of the enemy's forces before dismissing that idea as well. It was almost certain defeat wherever Inigo turned. As it stood, the best option for his people was to hunker down in the capital and slowly starve it out against the hordes of Risen.

He slumped forward this time, throwing his arms across the table. "Ugh, it's useless…" he muttered. "All of it, everything… he's too strong and we don't have enough to combat it..."

"You're right. What are we going to do about it, oh fearless leader?" a voice asked bluntly, and though sarcasm was apparent, Inigo could still detect the undertones of care and worry. It was Severa. Despite being a warrior on the frontlines, she was always good at entering unnoticed, a trait most likely inherited.

Inigo forced a charming grin on his face before straightening to face his childhood friend. "Well if it isn't the lovely Severa. I must say, you do look rather ravishing today." A lie. She was dripping wet and sustained minor wounds. "Did you shine your breastplate?" the Ylissean prince said to his captain of the guard. She said nothing and simply crossed her arms over her breastplate-less chest. Her blank look eventually forced his smile to disappear tiredly and Inigo became serious once more.

He confessed, "It's bad, and getting worse each day-even more so recently with the sudden upsurge of Grima's forces around." He gestured to all of his work on the table. "I've run through every option I could think of, but all just leave us even more crippled than we already are. We can't spare the manpower or resources. At this point, our only option is to try to hold out until our allies send us whatever help we can, or disperse." Severa gravely nodded, her ginger pigtails bobbing slightly as she took in the finality of their situation. She walked over to her friend and sat down in the chair next to him. He didn't miss her stifled grunt at the effort of the movement.

"Inigo, I… you're right. On all accounts. The future is ruined and we can't do anything to stop Grima," she started. Inigo looked at her in surprise. The admission of defeat was a far cry from the relentless and believing Severa he had grown up with. Usually this was when she would talk him up, and they would put their minds together to come up with some strategy, some new way of living to produce a victory, no matter how small.

"I know, I know, stop staring you twat," she snapped, before resettling into her message. "I talked with Aunt Lissa, and even she agrees. But Inigo, she said that there's a way. A way out of this hellhole, a way to save everyone." At this, the blue-haired man's heart stopped. There was?

"She didn't tell us because she didn't want to worry us in case it didn't work, but…" Severa took a deep, shaky breath. "The Fire Emblem is ours. Well, it will be once Khan Raimi and Say'ri's forces arrive with the missing gemstones. Aunt Lissa says that we have to perform a ritual and that it will end Grima once and for all."

Inigo shook his head. "That's impossible," he breathed. "We can't perform the Awakening. We don't even have the real Falchion, just the parallel version." At this the prince clutched the sword handle that hung from his side.

Severa shook her head. Droplets from her hair hit the mess of battle plans. "And where do you think that parallel blade came from, huh? Don't you see? We're not going to perform the Awakening. Inigo, the only way to defeat Grima is to go back and stop him before he even comes back." Inigo stood up indignantly. "And what? Repeat the mistakes of the past? Naga, Severa, we would just complete the loop! Don't you remember who died that day in the fight on Grima's back? Everyone. And that. Includes. Us." He turned away angrily, eyes coming to a rest on the far family portrait on the wall.

It was an old portrait, from before he was born. In it stood Prince Chrom, standing regally with his wife, Princess Olivia almost a year after their marriage. Snuggled in pink-haired woman's arms was baby Lucina, their first child and Inigo's older sister. The infant could not have been more than a few weeks old, but already she was showing signs of her parentage. Her father's navy locks and strong jaw, her mother's slender nose and curving mouth. The Mark of Naga in her left eye.

They never made it past the initial hit. Grima made sure of that when he first tried to wipe out Naga's bloodline. Chrom and Olivia-both were slain in that fateful battle against Grima. Baby Lucina… no one ever saw her again after Grima razed half of Ylisstol to the ground.

Inigo quietly lifted a hand to the Mark in his right eye. A dark shadow seemed to envelope his demeanor then, and he murmured, "I can't go back and watch everyone die. That's what will happen if you and the others follow through with this ritual. Fate will make sure of that." He sighed, feeling all of the energy leave his body.

"The carriers are already making way with the gemstones. At this point, Say'ri is halfway across the ocean and Raimi's representatives should be here any day now. I have to go talk to the others-" Yarne, Gerome, Brady, Laurent, Noire, Cynthia, Nah, Kjelle, so many good, good people who don't deserve all of the hell they got "-about this, but I have a feeling I know what their answer will be. There's not much time left," Severa said into the silence. A scuffle resounded in the room as the female warrior evacuated her chair. Steps, fading away. They stopped. "Inigo?"

Inigo didn't turn. He couldn't. "Don't go. Please. I can't lose anyone else."

She ignored him. "You don't really believe the crap you just said. Deep down, you and I know that Aunt Lissa is right. We're not pawns of some scripted fate," Severa stated, quoting a phrase that the eldest of Naga's bloodline used often.

The door closed and Inigo was left with the ghosts of his past and possibility of a future.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N I ramble. A lot. I take time to get things halfway to where I want it to be. Too much. Thanks for waiting. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its parallel timeline versions.

* * *

The transition from dragon to man had not been clean. Despite Grima's best efforts, there had been a flaw in the ritual, a hidden chink in the perfect plan. Funny. Grima's plan had hinged on the Avatar being susceptible enough to his own emotions, but the Fell Dragon hadn't accounted for those emotions' continuation in the end. He didn't think that he would have to deal with the petty fly's influence decades down the line.

There were symptoms.

He couldn't transform into his true dragon form. Every time he tried, a mental barricade barred the total release of power. It was akin to ramming one's head into a brick wall, with similar results-a splitting headache and no progress whatsoever. Without his dragon form, the destruction of his enemies became that much harder. Cities couldn't be smashed within seconds. Entire armies couldn't be incinerated with one exhale. This left Grima frustrated and infuriated to the point where he murdered several hundred Grimleal cultists. He had then ordered the appropriately-terrified rest to prepare for the inevitably lengthy war ahead of them.

The second side effect was that his actions were at times not his own. At war councils, the Fell Dragon found himself giving tactics and strategies to his commanders, maneuvers that, while seemingly foolproof, became obviously suicidal under careful scrutiny. Many of the Grimleal lost their lives to the half-crazed, possessed tactician whose body Grima occupied. The dilemma of momentary losses of control he kept close to his chest and shared with only those he trusted. In this case, "those" meant unlucky eavesdroppers that would oh-so-unfortunately die in the near future, and the tactician's daughter, Morgan. The young woman he kept alive for her unwavering loyalty and ability to override the Avatar's influence in war councils. As soon as he placed her in a seat of power beside him, she had been a great asset to the cause. He could not keep track of how many times heavy losses were averted due to the blue-haired tactician.

Sometimes, he dreamt. The dreams were always memories it seemed, but as the subconscious streams took up increasingly countless nights, it became obvious that they were not his. The people, the ideas in these dreams… it was disgusting, the reverence that his avatar attached to them. Now-dead characters on a stage long gone, characters that had tossed the avatar aside when he was at his most vulnerable. Ideas of caring, affection, love… revolting. Grima ignored those as best as he could. He focused all of his energy on the small seeds of resentment and hatred for the others' abandonment. He had done so in the hopes that perhaps the Avatar would see it his way, that Grima could triumph this battle as well.

And yet somehow, somewhere along the line, the possessed tactician had won. Grima would never admit it publicly, but privately he wasn't stupid. He knew that a tiny sliver of emotion had wormed its way from the tactician's mind to his. He suspected that Morgan knew as well, or even guessed at it. The evidence was plain as day in Lucina's, Adriane's existence.

"Adriane" was someone who shouldn't, couldn't be alive. Of all the world, Lucina, or at least her alternate counterpart, was the most precious being in the Avatar's eyes. Nothing else mattered so much to the Avatar. The world could burn as long as Lucina was alive. Grima saw that and took advantage of it, sparing the princess' life and taking her in. The implications of this act of mercy was clear for the Avatar: cooperate and she lives. Act out of line and she suffers.

But yes, the emotions. After sharing a mind for so long, it became difficult to discern the owner of each fear, each desire, each feeling. Grima found himself craving bear meat specifically on more than one occasion, and every now and then he was struck with a sudden impulse to read books about pegasi. These were trifle matters.

More serious were the attentions he paid to the young girl. When she was an infant, or nothing more than a child, it was not too terrible. The Avatar insured that any dangerous thoughts directed at his Lucina were instantly diffused and Grima was unable to do anything about it-not that he particularly wanted to. His vessel was so fixated on the young one's safety that he staved off from the war against Naga, something Grima supported. There was also the added benefit that Adriane had the potential to be a powerful tool in his army, hence the rigorous training under Morgan. Waste not, want not.

Then she became a walking, living, beautiful time bomb. Grima had not anticipated this, but the possessed Avatar did. Oh, yes he did, and Grima felt the anticipation within him rise before every scheduled meeting. Lustrous navy locks grew to the appropropriate length—almost to the middle of her back. Legs elongated and lifted her to just the right height. Cheekbones rose and baby softness was shed. Adriane looked more like her with each passing hour. At the same time however, she was completely the opposite.

The eyes, the dull grey that the Avatar despised with a passion, inversely brought the Fell Dragon a cruel sense of satisfaction. Her stance. When Lucina was alive she carried herself like the daughter of kings, dragon slayers, and heroes. There was an air of pride and vitality to the young woman, one that continued on through the Avatar's dreams. Adriane was different. Around him, her steps were declarations of subservience and utter worship. She carried herself like the daughter of nobodies, one that would never have been able to have a future alone. When she talked she talked not of saving people (hah!), but making them pay. Adriane was not Lucina. She had become more. His.

He felt sick. He felt joy. He felt disgusted. He felt relieved. He was confused. Who was he? The Avatar or the Dragon? The Dragon could no longer tell when it came to her. The Avatar was unhinged and knew what was happening and was powerless to stop it and did not care.

The world could burn as long as Adriane was okay. As long as she was his.

She would leave tomorrow to murder Ylisseans in the name of Grima. Oh, the sweet irony. A swell of pride appeared in Grima's chest at the thought. The Avatar said nothing inside his head.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Time goes by when you're trying to think about something other than what you're thinking of. Here's another, just because. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its parallel timeline versions.

* * *

Surrounded by the dead and dying, Adriane had never felt more alive.

It had been three days since she and the band of undead had departed the small fortress. The first day had been an uneventful trek through burned and tainted land. Yesterday, she and her army had encountered a hidden pocket of Resistance in the few forests left in Ylisse. Today they struck.

Currently she was engaged in combat, cutting down swordsman after axe wielder after mage. It was after she kicked aside a fatally wounded axe man that she felt a prickling sensation on her neck. Her instincts kicked in. Adriane turned around in time to cut down an arrow in midair. About fifty paces away, a petite girl clutched a bow to her chest. The archer wore an expression of disbelief and was shaking with fear. Still, the human managed to notch another arrow into her weapon. "Take care of her!" the commander yelled at a nearby Risen mage.

With a grunt of acquiescence, the magic user stopped dueling a human warrior and muttered a few arcane phrases. Crimson flames materialized at the undead's fingerprints and sped towards the archer, missing by mere inches. However, the spell struck a nearby building, setting it on fire. The screams of children echoed from inside. Adriane's grey eyes searched for the archer again, hoping she had been crushed by falling debris from the spell's impact. Instead, she found the girl looking at the building for a moment and then straight back at her. No longer was the archer a meek girl-child who could hardly handle a bow-her face carried a deathly glare and a shadow seemed to loom over her expression. Despite herself, a slight tremor of fear resonated within her person.

Another round of screams echoed as the flimsy structure started to come apart. Then the furious archer searching for vengeance was gone, once more a meek girl. She ran into the building for the children, and Adriane let her go. The Risen will get her and whoever she manages to save later, she reasoned. For some reason, the scene left Adriane with an unfamiliar feeling in her heart and she shook her head in perplexity.

The warrior took advantage of the Plegians' lapses in concentration and ran the mage through. It dissolved into a murky miasma, and Adriane released a sigh of frustration. Why won't they just give up? She maneuvered herself around the purple cloud of smoke, then struck at the first opening she saw.

A hit. Her blade ran deep along his side. The other human clutched the open wound with agony and dropped his sword. Too easy. She kicked his weapon aside and lazily stabbed him through the chest, taking a moment to stare into his eyes. "Ylissean scum," she spat. "You deserve this for what you've done to me. And see?" She gestured around at the carnage. "All of your efforts are in vain."

Lying there, her victim stared back. Behind the pain in his eyes was a defiance that remained despite his defeat. Adriane felt a surge of hate. Why wasn't he feeling the pain too? She twisted her sword in his chest, his peasant's tunic suddenly becoming a much more gruesome shade of red. He grunted in agony and shut his eyes, but when they reopened they carried the same rebellious mien. He grinned then, blood coating his teeth and trickling down one corner of his mouth. "You Grimleal really are… stupid. You don't… know… don't know… what it means to protect-" he spluttered a little, choking on his own blood. He continued, "Human… supposed to… one of us… why…" The handful of words took the last of him. His eyes rolled back and he slumped backwards in the dirt.

Adriane ground her teeth at the dead man before shaking her head and surveying the conflict around her. The assault was going exactly as predicted. A simple putdown. Her Risen soldiers had gathered in the village square once the enemy was routed. The corpses that weren't under her control littered the remnants of the village, evidence of the humans' futile struggle. Around her, smoke and the stench of blood hung in the air like a blanket. A suffocating one, she thought, as she coughed into her elbows. She glanced at the unperturbed expressions of the Risen and briefly envied them for their lack of discomfort. Then she thought of the price of that luxury and banished the thought, resuming her coughing.

"Commander!" a sword master Risen rasped. He hobbled towards her while pointing a gnarled finger north, towards the woods. In the distance, two figures sat atop a galloping horse. One, the rider, wore pale rose and white clothing that didn't look like any Ylissean garb Adriane had ever seen. On her side was the bright red splotch of a fresh wound, and the woman barely capable of hanging onto the reins. Her companion, the driver, had strange ornaments in her short hair and carried a bow. These were both characteristics that would have gone unnoticed if not for the fact that it was the archer from earlier.

"You," she breathed. As if she could hear her, the mounted archer glanced behind worriedly. Adriane saw red. Ylisseans escaping? "Shoot them down!" she growled. A Risen bowman raised its weapon and released an arrow towards the fleeing women.

A dark arrow stood in contrast to the rosy hues of the dawn sky. However, when the arrow had almost reached its target, the archer did something that made Adriane's eyes widen. She spun around in her seat, jarring her companion. Paying no attention to her injured passenger, the woman raised her bow and shot her own arrow. In the sky, the two shadows met. Three made it to the ground. The archer adjusted her companion behind her and dug her heels into the horse's flank.

"Allow me," croaked a withered Risen mage. She lifted a decayed lightning tome and began reciting the incantation. Just before the words could exit her lips, a dagger embedded itself into her skull. When the purple smoke cleared, a peasant woman stood in its wake, a satisfied expression on her face and in her eyes. Following the direction of her gaze, Adriane looked to see that the two women had escaped.

Today's events were steadily becoming worse. Adriane strode over to the woman, her boots making deadly crunching noises with the ground. The commander turned onto the woman and unsheathed her sword. She pointed the tip against the woman's neck, applying only the slightest amount of pressure to draw blood. "Why?" Adriane asked coldly.

An easy answer to that question would be that those two were close to the women. Relatives, maybe, though from the obvious differences in physical appearance-this woman looked nothing like those two- that was unlikely. Friends, perhaps then. But no. Something in her gut told her that the two that had slipped past her were important. Another look at the satisfaction and relief on the woman's face set off the alarm bells once more.

Insolence and silence, that's all the woman had to give her. It was fortunate that her daughter didn't take after her.

"Mommy, no!" It was little more than a tiny squeak, but the cry reverberated throughout the emptiness of the courtyard. The red glows of Risen eyes shifted towards the small girl in unison, but this did not seem to faze the child in the slightest. Adriane raised her hand to cease fire, and the child was allowed to rush past the army towards her mother. Cold logic dictated that she could use this. The child's life as blackmail for whatever information the mother could give her.

Every ounce of her training screamed to kill the little girl and her mother too right then and there. But the words of a dead man rung in her mind, and something about her as a person was curious, if there was a term for the indescribable feeling she had now.

Adriane lowered her sword just in time for the scruffy child to throw herself into her mother's arms. Terror filled the peasant woman's expression now, terror for her offspring, of losing a family member. The commander drank it in. So strange… She caught the woman's eye and held it as the little girl sobbed.

"Mommy mommy… I'm so sorry…"-a sniffle-"I know you told me to hide, but the bad lady was going to hurt you!" The child could not have been little more than four years of age, tiny thing she was. Her hair was matted down with dirt and sweat, and the edges were burnt. Come to think about it, the girl's clothing was burnt as well, handspun wool ending in ugly black frays as evidence. Throughout her body were various cuts and scrapes and burns. The daughter continued crying against the mother's shoulder. "Already lost Lily and Daddy. Not you too! Won't let them!" she was saying between sobs.

Adriane snapped, and the training took over. She suddenly stepped forward and jerked the little girl away. "No!" the mother yelled. The girl shrieked and extended her arms to her mother. At this point the commander had already sheathed her sword and pulled out a small dagger. This she pressed up against the girl' neck. Her captive ceased all resistance at the slightest touch of cold steel.

"You know what happens now," Adriane murmured with a calm that she didn't feel. Her hand on the blade shook a little. This child was no soldier, and she wasn't like her mother, who had knowingly risked her life in the name of war. This was an innocent. Ylissean, but a bystander and clean of battle. All of her training had focused on war tactics against other seasoned warriors. This wasn't… was this right? A voice inside her head screamed that no, this wasn't. This was an abomination. It was the very thing she was fight-

She could feel however, the eyes of her Risen, and that was enough to quell any personal doubts. This was for him and his cause. This was for her parents. Resolute, she steadied first her hand on the dagger and then her eyes on the woman. "Tell me what you know or she dies right now."

The peasant was suddenly a fountain of information. "Noire. That was the archer woman," she said, making wild gestures towards the forest. "The other one… I don't know her name. No one does-did. She arrived a couple of days ago, said she was headed towards Ylisstol, said something about delivering-I don't know what! But she said it was extremely important, that it would be enough to end Grima once and for all! But that's what she said," she stopped from her panicked babbling and adopted a subservient pose. Adriane watched the other clasp her hands and beg. "I don't know anything else, please, believe me. Please, don't hurt my baby. Let her go."

The commander of the Risen was human, one of them. Adriane knew that if she took too long in her course of action her hand would shake again. The dagger would slip and fall, and then what? Most likely this would set the Risen off and the mother and daughter would die gruesome deaths. The mother she didn't give two damns about. The second that woman saved the two escapees, her life was forfeit. But the child was innocent, she only wanted to keep her family, keep them from the… no. That was a dangerous train of thought. Going down that road would hinder her path to revenge.

Adriane tightened her fingers on the child. 'I must not hesitate,' she thought.

The eyes of her master were watching.

The dagger dug into the child's neck. It was not a clean cut, the wound only going a third into the supple flesh before it met resistance with the bone. Adriane unceremoniously dumped the corpse on the ground in front of her and walked to an undead mount that had been prepared for her.

She felt numb as she ascended the saddle. Her dagger had been sheathed into her belt, but evidence of her crime and hypocrisy stood a stark red on her fingers.

From behind her she could hear the mother's screams of grief. Adriane let her go on for a minute before she turned to the nearest Risen archer. "Shoot her. We have what we need."

A soft whizz followed by a quiet thump. It was the first taste of battle.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N I kept trying to write a different scene with different characters with minimal results. Then this came on last night and flowed. Oh well. More later. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

Noire didn't stop riding until she couldn't see the smoke from the village, or what was left of it. Despite her partner's critical condition, the archer knew that the chances of living if the Risen caught up to them were significantly lower than the prolonged treatment of the wound. Every little bit of distance would help.

Once the trails of smoke were no longer visible and they were surrounded by the silence and forest, she got to work. Noire carefully dismounted and propped Say'ri up against a tree. The Chon'sin woman let out a quiet grunt, but otherwise offered no opposition.

In the dim light, Say'ri's wounds became obvious-not so terrible that Say'ri would die, but definitely worth patching up to prevent death from blood loss. A long red line decorated the woman's side, evident the torn fabric of her robe and belt. It was a clean slash in its technique.

"The… bags…" gasped Say'ri. Noire scrambled to the horse and found a roll of cloth that would have to do as a bandage. "Er… hold still. I need to cut off the surrounding clothing so I can wrap up your wounds… Oh no…" Noire wrung her hands nervously as she approached the older woman with her pocket dagger and the cloth. The wounded woman gave a quick nod and closed her eyes. "Stay w-with me…" Noire began cutting at ornate belt wrapped around Say'ri's midsection, trying her best to keep her hands from shaking.

As the blade slit the fabric, a lump she didn't notice before tumbled free from the confines of the belt. Noire took a moment to push the sandy brown hair out of her face to examine the object. Shiny and green, she was confused as to what it was. It seemed familiar, and she knew that she had seen it before, maybe not in person but definitely in pictures... It hit her. Noire stopped her ministrations to gape at it. "Is that?"

"Vert? Aye. This is… why I'm here," Say'ri responded, grimacing slightly when she shifted her weight. Noire snapped out of her daze to return to the treatment. A million questions were running through her mind. She wanted to ask them, her mouth opening and closing silently, but her shock was prevalent. Why was she here with a piece of the Fire Emblem?

Say'ri continued, "It was almost… lost this morning… when that blasted woman almost… cut it out of me… but it's safe now." A woman amongst the Risen? Noire's ears perked up and she asked curiously, "Was it by chance… one with blue hair? She looked like a Risen commander, but none of our reports have ever spoken of her… I didn't know Grima had more human leaders..."

Say'ri shook her head. "Nay, 'twas someone worse… Morgan herself." At the mention of the sorceress' name, Noire gasped. Grima's right hand was one of Ylisse's deadliest opponents, second only to Grima himself. She had led countless battles against Naga's forces, utilizing brilliant battles tactics to secure victories. The strategies she used always decimated her enemies, crippled her own, and spelled a win for Grima. No one had ever seen her face and lived, but her devastating magic and Grimleal cloak was telling enough. For someone so important to come after Say'ri personally… Noire felt a swell of hope tinged with fear. Maybe this war wasn't so hopeless after all, if a powerful figure like Morgan was coming after one person, a single gem. Though what Say'ri intended to do with Vert was out of Noire's grasp.

She finished the emergency treatment with a tight knot and backed away. Noire tried to ignore the way the blood covered her hands and forearms or how the shadows of the trees accentuated Say'ri's pallor. The wounds were worse than she had initially thought. Morgan's magic must have sliced up key internal organs. "Listen, Noire. No matter what… happens… Vert must reach Ylisstol. To… Lissa." Say'ri picked up Vert with loving, careful, trembling fingers and placed it in Noire's palm. She closed the archer's fingers around the gem and pushed it towards the girl.

"The capital is almost... a day's ride away on horseback," she said. Her face was unreadable, but Noire had an inkling that she knew where this was headed.

Auntie Lissa had sent her to the small resistance encampment to aid an ally to the palace. The ally then turned out to be the princess of Chon'sin, a former Shepherd. What started out as a simple escort mission became one of dire importance, considering Vert-one of the missing Gemstones of the Fire Emblem-and Morgan-the one closest to the Fell Dragon-were both involved.

"I-I can't! Two is safer than one!" she argued weakly. Say'ri was not swayed from her resolution. "But safer does not mean faster," the swordswoman countered firmly. "Our foes have grown strong as of late, and will continue to do so by the second. Were I not injured… nay, I would have asked this of you anyways, child, with the events of this morn." Say'ri straightened her position. "I am weak. To burden the horse with my dead weight would be folly. Time would be wasted to accommodate me and by then Grima might have already struck. Nay! I will not allow it. Take Vert. Go to Ylisse."

Torn, Noire looked between the gem and the dying woman nervously. Vert glinted hopefully from her bloodied hands. The desperation and hope reflected in Say'ri's grey eyes. Both women knew that if Noire left now, there might be enough time to save Ylisse but surely not enough to save the former Shepherd. The wound in her side wouldn't necessarily kill her, no, but it would weaken her severely in battle. If, or rather, when the Risen find her, even the Chon'sin native would have trouble fending them off. Say'ri knew this perfectly well. She once again weakly pushed the hand holding the gem closer to Noire's chest.

Tears welled up in the archer's eyes and she nodded in understanding. "Thank you," she choked out. Noire stood up and readjusted her gear, making sure everything was intact. No clue where else to stash it, she carefully dropped the gem into her quiver with the rest of the arrows. At least she would always know where it was. A look up at the sky told her that almost no time had passed at all from her conversation with the Chon'sin woman. Indeed it had only been about a half an hour maximum since the Risen attack. If that scary blue-haired swordswoman had followed them, the walking corpses could show up at any time.

Say'ri tilted her head forward as a sign of respect and goodbye. "I perform what services I can for the Ylissean army. 'Tis the least I can do."

"I-I'll come back for you," Noire said once she mounted the horse. The beast reared its head and stamped its hooves, anticipating the long run. She held her bow tightly, as if doing so would bring her strength to carry out the task and lend truth to her words.

The princess of Chon'sin gave her a sad smile. In that moment, Noire could see the age and wisdom, regret and hope in the older woman. Say'ri was ready. "See to it that Lissa receives Vert."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N There is a pattern in the updating, one that I don't particularly like. After I passed the first horizontal line break, this song seemed appropriate:  /ilmX2IwAAw8. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms. I also don't own that other game or any of its alternate timeline forms.

I also didn't edit this. Or proof it. Or reread.

* * *

Adriane sighed. Surrounded by the charred and smoking ruins of the town, she should have felt happy, but… She closed her eyes. What happened with the mother was out of her control. She felt fine. Once more, she was filled with determination to serve Grima.

Concerning her master… he must be warned. Adriane surveyed her Risen. Yes, one of them could be sent ahead to warn Master Grima about the attack. But what if a mere message wasn't enough to deter the Ylisseans' attack? Her force of Risen, while comparatively small, was nothing to scoff at either. In a full out clash in their enemy's own capital, a single soldier could mean the difference between victory and defeat. The image of her master sprawled across the castle footsteps, stained with the blood of his enemies and his own filled her with an unfathomable anguish and she trembled slightly. On the other hand, there were the orders of targets and battle plans in the saddlebags. No. Adriane could not take any chances, not at this stage in the war. She made her decision.

She cleared her throat loudly, and the red eyes gravitated to her form. "There has been a change of plans. This threat against our master is unknown, and he must be aided immediately. Risen! March towards the capital!" she commanded. However, to her surprise, none of the undead so much as budged. The clearing was deathly silent, until a familiar voice cut through.

"You will do no such thing, child." Out of the corner of her eye, Adriane spotted a cloaked, blue-haired figure approaching her from the rubble. Though the tactician appeared a little worse for wear with cloudy dust clinging to her clothes and several cuts and slashes in her clothing. Her left arm hung limply and blood was running freely from a wound on the same side's shoulder. On her right cheek was a thin red line, not deep or wide enough to bleed heavily, but just enough to be noticeable. Adriane would have normally been impressed by the one to deliver the cuts -there was only one she knew of that could even manage the feat-but in this moment, that wasn't the case. The commander was more concerned with why Morgan was here, and why she would ignore a potentially very dangerous threat.

Morgan walked towards Adriane, her steps making small crunching noises in the stone and dirt. She stopped about four feet from Adriane's steed and met the commander's steely grey eyes with her own brown. The former student gave the other a questioning look, tinged with the slightest irritation.

The tactician's lips thinned and she responded, "Grima already knows. He's known for months." Adriane instinctively tightened her hands around the reins, but Morgan continued. "I came along because there were rumors of the Chon'sin ruler in the area, making her way to Ylisse." The wounded woman on the horse, Adriane thought. "I had her, but an archer woman intervened and she managed to escape," Morgan gritted out, a murderous expression shadowing her face for a fraction of a second. The tactician clutched her shoulder in an attempt to inhibit the bleeding, and said, "But it's all for naught on their side. By the time those two reach the capital in their conditions, there will be no capital left to save, much less a force that can rival Master Grima's."

Morgan's eyes took on a dreamy and relieved expression. "Grima is marching towards the capital with the whole of the Risen forces as we speak. The time is ripe. Soon, the Ylisseans will fall, their precious capital and family reduced to ashes, and finally, finally…" Her voice trembled slightly. "Finally my f- Master Grima's dream will come true. It will finally be over."

Adriane could not believe what she was hearing. "And no one deemed it fit to tell me of this development?" she quipped coldly. The pieces slid together before Morgan could explain.

This whole mission, about proving herself to her Master, for repaying him… it was a diversion of some sort, something to keep her away from her final revenge against Ylisse. For what purpose, she did not know. The injustice weighed heavy on her mind. Why? Why keep her from the march? She had been training all of her life for a moment like this! All of the instruction and conditioning had been geared towards eradicating the enemy. She was strong! She could be a useful tool! So why exclude her from the finest hour when even the lowliest unit had a place in the slaughter?

Her knuckles turned bone white and Morgan gave her an unreadable expression. "It was in the plan initially for you to spearhead the onslaught, but circumstances don't permit that anymore. Grima's orders. You were not to know nor take part, and everyone followed them. I suggest you do the same in this situation." Morgan pointed towards the saddlebag that held the maps. Looking for answers, Adriane tried but could not read the other's expression. The tactician had put up a wall and would not meet her eyes.

After a moment's worth of tense silence, Morgan said, "I will stay with you temporarily to ensure compliance before departing. The next target should be Southtown, no?" The older woman then beckoned to a Risen sage and gestured to her shoulder. The two disappeared in the folds of the crowd, leaving Adriane with a million questions and one determination.

She was dying to know what her Master's motives were in removing her from the position. He knew how much it meant for her to see the dying gasps of the monarchs who ordered her parents' death. To repay him for his work towards making that happen.

Morgan would be leaving tonight, presumably to hunt down the Chon'sin woman. Adriane knew that her former teacher was never one to retreat for long, and if the escaped woman was given even half the week, Ylisse would have what it needed to down Master Grima.

To search the forests for a warrior duo or to head straight for the capital and Grima? The commander had never been one for tracking. In the unfamiliar forests, it would be all to simple to lose the two and burn time. No, better to ride directly to the capital.

As she ordered her troops to move out, the when, where, and how was formulated in her mind. It would have to be tonight, while Morgan was occupied in the healing tent. There was a higher risk of being caught in her escape, but Adriane knew that if she delayed her leave any longer, she and the Risen would be much too far away from the capital to arrive before the archer and the Chon'sin woman.

She thought of the patrols and mentally grimaced. Risen were not like living creatures. They did not tire, they did not take breaks, and they did not switch out on watch. Adriane estimated that she would only need a minute or two to retrieve her steed and enter the forest, but how would she be able to distract both Morgan and the surrounding Risen at once?

As she pondered on the situation, her undead horse misplaced a hoof, causing her to jostle slightly on its back. As the commander recalibrated, her eyes landed upon the ground. Loose dirt, moist and capable of housing life. A memory emerged. An idea sprang into existence. Adriane privately allowed herself a smile.

* * *

(A/N If you have the music up, this is the part I was referring to. Feel free to stop it once you hit the next line. Or not. It's good up until the end.)

It was a dark night, black as pitch and full of bad memories. Alone in her tent, with only a small lit candle for company, Morgan slouched against a desk. The Risen sage had departed her for a bit when the tactician had complained of a pain spike in her left shoulder, but really, there was no pain. Morgan just wanted some time alone.

A small part of her knew that alone time wasn't the best idea, now or ever, for someone like her. The silence and the dark invited too many memories, doubts, and fears. Things she would usually rather safely tuck away in a box to forget came back in small tidbits, plaguing the rare moments of time she wasn't occupied with something or someone. Yawning, she tried to focus her thoughts on the bright flame across her. With enough concentration, she could get past this terrible decision and last until the Risen returned.

But the night is long, and quiet. Try as she might, Morgan could not free her mind of Adriane's face when the commander had heard of the upcoming assault on Ylisse. She felt her sins weighing down on her, but she ignored them. 'It's for the best,' she thought, as visions of red-soaked blue swam in her mind. The familiar feeling of thunder at her fingertips.

She sighed.

 _...gan._ The woman buried her face in the crook of her right arm.

 _Mor...gan._ She shut her eyes.

… _to me. So precious, my…_ She wished she could shut her heart the same way.

" _...I really wish you had talked to me before you decided to do-" A woman gestured to a small lump on the young girl's forehead "-this." The bump was a discolored purple, with splotches of red where the wall had scraped off bits of skin. The woman poked it experimentally, and the girl couldn't hold back a wince._

" _Now why did you do this to yourself, hmm Morgan?" the woman asked. The girl couldn't see the other's expression, but she just knew that it was a look of worry, without a trace of disappointment. At the question, she fidgeted and refused to meet her eyes. "Well?" the woman prompted._

 _Morgan let out a small sigh. "I was… I was trying something," she mumbled. Perhaps if she played her cards correctly, Mother wouldn't have to know the truth._

 _A hand stroked back Morgan's loose bangs. "Yes dear? What?" Morgan still couldn't see her mother's face. She took a deep breath and finally let it out. "I was trying to remember you," she confessed sadly, with a hint of frustration._

 _She could almost see Mother's bemused expression as the woman asked, "...by hitting your head against a wall? I…"_

 _Morgan shook her head. "I need to know, Mother. I need to know more about you, Father, us in my past. I can't go on with just knowing that I am your daughter." She hugged her form in shame. "You and the other future children came to your parents knowing exactly who you are. Me? I have no identity, I've failed Ma-my father and you."_

 _At this, Mother knelt down and gathered Morgan into her arms. "Sh, sh, it's alright. I do not fault you for your lack of memory, my child. But perhaps it is better this way. The past… is not always a thing worth remembering," Mother said. "On the other hand, the present and future don't have to be the same way. You, your father, I can make new memories. Happy ones. Would you like that?"_

 _Blue. Blue were her mother's eyes as they gazed lovingly down at Morgan. Blue like the clear, clear sky on a shining day. Blue and alive._

 _Morgan nodded, and Mother closed her eyes and beamed at her daughter. The child guiltily glanced down. Liar, liar… As Mother reopened her eyes, Morgan quickly said, "Tell me about your life here until you met me. I want to know all about you." She offered a quick smile, and her mother launched into a hilarious and captivating story, that blurred out, lost to time._

 _Throughout it all, a darkness lurked in the back of her mind. It listened to her words and laughed and jeered. It condemned her for the facade she had pulled up. 'Take it down,' it suggested. 'Show them all who you really are.' Unwillingly, Morgan had come to face with the memory that had resurfaced, of a tactician mounted atop a wyvern._

 _The tactician wore a Plegian cloak, and held a tome that reeked of magic. In the memory, Morgan was pointing to separate parts of a battlefield as she flew. Everywhere she pointed, a group of Risen made their way to that area, ready to eliminate the enemy. Once in awhile, the Mark on her back burned unpleasantly, yet her face would light up and she would begin animatedly speaking to the one by the name of Grima. Her father._

 _In sync, the voices said "...my child."_

 _Only one continued. 'You have returned.'_

With a start, Morgan awoke. The candle was running low, yet the undead healer had yet to return. She stretched out from her slumped position and grimaced. A wonderful surprise was waiting for her to notice. There was actual pain in her left shoulder now, a throbbing that persisted after her stretches.

Where was that blasted Risen?

"I should just get some sleep," she grumbled. It was better to have a bad time sleeping just a little than no sleep at all. Her hunt of the Chon'sin princess required an early wakeup. However, as she was shuffling towards her small cot, a skitter of movement caught her eye. Morgan's blood froze. Every muscle was tense, wary. No… it couldn't be? A monstrous shadow flashed across the side of her tent. Moving only her eyes, she looked down, and saw it.

A cockroach.

And Morgan, grandmaster tactician of Grima's army, spellcaster of the highest caliber, ruthless harbinger of death, screamed.

* * *

Adriane had been waiting for quite a while. Getting the cockroach into Morgan's tent and disemboweling that sage was the easy part. The endless waiting, knowing that every second that slipped by could have been used to overtake the Ylisseans… that was the true struggle.

As soon as the Risen stationed in the area rushed to Morgan's tent, she quietly sprinted to where the undead horses were kept. She wore a simple black ensemble-black trousers, black shirt, black cloak-anything that would help her blend into the night. A dark leather bag was slung around her shoulders carrying a wedge of cheese, a large heel of bread, and a couple of potions in case of emergencies. Her sword she wore sheathed and attached to a belt.

When she arrived at her steed, the undead horse looked at her as questioningly as it could with its unearthly red glow. She shook her head at it and silently tightened the saddle and harness onto its back. One minute left, tops. Her heart hammered against her chest as she clumsily undid the horse's tie to the tree.

Silence. The screams had stopped about ten seconds ago. Soon the Risen would discover the broken vials of health potions on the path between Morgan's tent and the healer's, if they hadn't already. Finally getting the tie free, Adriane threw herself onto the saddle and dug her boots into the sides of the undead horse.

In the dark, her grey eyes shone with determination. No matter what, she would stand by Master Grima's side. She would show him. He would know that she was strong, and deserving of the honor, the honor of avenging the past and righting the future.

* * *

Under the cover of the same night, a heavily cloaked figure snuck into the Ylissean palace through a hole in the wall. She trespassed through a decrepit garden long abandoned to nature. She traipsed through empty hallways in the same dreary state. A voice stopped her in the final hallway.

"Halt! Who dares to step foot in this sacred hallway? I must warn you, fiend, my sword hand is not easily contained," boomed a theatrical voice. The stooped woman was hit with a sentimentality that tore at her heart. She turned around and let down the hood, letting the moonlight illuminate her aged features.

Immediately Owain abandoned his pose. "Aunt Flavia," he said. He gravely nodded at her and gestured towards the door to his right. The khan of what was left of Regna Ferox approached the gilded door. Even in the pale moonlight, the signs of undermainance was evident. The golden filigree had flaked off and the paint had cracked in several places. More disturbing however, were the shallow scratch marks and uneven lumps in the wood, as if someone had tried to claw and break down the door.

The door opened ever so slightly. Twitching, gloved fingers peeked out over the edge of the door. "Owain..? Who are you talking to?.." a meek voice asked. Flavia tilted her head to the left for a better angle and met the eyes of an old ally.

"Lissa," she greeted warmly.

"..." Lissa said nothing, just looked at her as if not really believing that she was there. Dark circles ringed her eyes. Dull, ash blond hair fell haphazardly to her shoulders.

Flavia sensed a Owain nodding slowly from behind her, and Lissa's face flooded with relief. For a moment, the Ylissean princess' face morphed into that of a girl who, seventeen years ago, could brighten and inspire a whole army with just her presence. The moment passed quickly, and the room seemed to have gotten colder. With a smile, Lissa said, "Come in, come in! I'm so glad you made it here safely!"

The door opened a just a bit more, and the gloved hands disappeared inside. Flavia turned to Owain, who gave her an almost-imperceptible shake of his head. She nodded in return and, carrying a gemstone, followed the princess.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N Welp, it's been a while. I finally got my plot how I want it to go, at least for the beginning. Sorry it's taking so long to ramp up-I'm annoyed at myself for not posting the advertised action/rom genre. Still, it's all in the plot. I should be able to get the pieces come together naturally. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

Something was missing. Irritated, Lissa opened her eyes to the crackling of a fire. Snap, crackle. Flyaway sparks came from the fireplace as a dark figure poked at it with a lance. The other person wore simple clothing and she could tell that he had a tall stature, despite the action of bending over. Lissa rubbed her eyes from sleep to see that the hunched-over dark figure was no one to fear.

In everyday clothing and with slightly rumpled hair, Frederick turned around. He sent her an apologetic look that said, 'Sorry. I didn't think I would wake you.' She couldn't see his eyes, but his facial expression melted whatever annoyance Lissa was feeling and she shook her head, smiling. "No biggie!" she replied, and tapped the empty spot beside her on the couch. Her husband gently joined her and wrapped an arm around her tiny frame. He smelled of clean soap and pine. He was strangely cold, but she didn't mind. She had enough warmth to go around. Lissa immediately snuggled up to him and rested her head against his shoulder. He rested his head on hers. Everything was right.

Lissa glanced up at Frederick, careful to avoid bumping into his chin. The knight looked everything like his portrait. Strong jaw, firm cheekbones, _hair all in place_.

Wait, what?

Lissa froze. Panic flooded her veins. Had she forgotten? She blinked once, twice, hard, and looked again. Frederick's chestnut curls were once more tousled out of place, a carefree side of him only she knew, one that the palace painters never would, had they lived beyond the first siege. The Ylissean princess let go all of the tension in her body and tried to go back to relaxing against him. But treacherous thoughts flew around in her mind.

Eyes, nose, lips, voice, his way of walking-those features of his all left her after so many years. Did that make her a terrible wife, not being able to recall sides of her husband only she knew? Desperately she clung to Frederick, but the illusion was already disappearing.

The warmth of the room bled away for a cold dreariness. The fire deteriorated into a sad pile of grey ashes. The couch showed signs of wear and tear. The solidity of Frederick's frame faded away and Lissa became acutely aware of how tightly she was clutching the throw pillow. The fabric had also gotten the slightest bit damp, and Lissa quickly wiped away her tears. It wasn't for a princess to cry.

"..via," she heard Owain say from outside the door. People? Lissa grabbed a pair of gloves that had been strewn across the floor and put them on. With a deep breath, she opened the door.

A person.

It was Flavia. The princess was happy, so happy. A familiar face, after all of these years. It was a shame that she and her old friend couldn't keep in touch as much as she would have liked, with things being what they were, with the war and her… _condition_ , but…

"Go on, sit!" She gestured brightly at the couch she had just vacated. Once the tanned warrior had rested on the seat, Lissa joined her, carefully maneuvering so that the tear-streaked pillow was out of sight. She casually flipped said pillow on its opposite side. Image, image.

 _All right, Lissa. You can do this. You can make it through one conversation, without any mistakes. Just like Emmeryn would._

The world seemed to slow down as Lissa concentrated. _Ask her about her trip. Ask her about the state of Regna Ferox, if anything has changed. Ask her about Vert. One, two, three, easy as one of Sumia's pies. Except Sumia's pies were pretty hard to make._ Lissa didn't know how the Pegasus knight had made so many for Chrom that one time…

"Er… Lissa?" Flavia's deep voice rang through her inner ramblings and Lissa jolted slightly. Time ran normally. "Oh dear, I'm sorry, Flavia," she said. "Can I offer you some tea?" The older woman nodded. "Yes, that would be appreciated."

Lissa stood up and picked up the nearest teapot. It still had some drink left in it, and a quick and mild fire spell heated the tea to a suitable temperature. Ignoring the small pinpricks of pain in her fingers, she gently poured the other woman some tea.

The pale liquid splashed and collided against the walls of the teacup violently, before eventually settling down to a steaming standstill.

Lissa passed the warm cup to Flavia and watched worriedly. _Did I do it right this time? Last time I added too many leaves-it was revolting. Nothing at all like how_ she _would make it…_ Flavia gave her a brief, but pleased smile, before nodding at the cup. The princess glowed at the reassurance. _Maribelle would have been proud._

Now to business. Lissa glanced at the other woman, noticing how the pale light slanted in such a way that light bags and worry lines were accentuated on Flavia's face. Flavia looked tired, and Lissa understood. "I thought Khan Raimi was going to send troops down to aid us. Why did you come alone?" the princess asked nonchalantly, watching the green water slosh.

Flavia gently set down the tea on the table before she spoke gravely, "Khan Raimi is dead."

Lissa looked up from her musings with wide eyes. Surely, she was lying. Flavia shook her head once, reading her expression.

"Cause of death?"

"Treachery. One of our own."

Something in Lissa's stomach churned unpleasantly. The ghost of a memory resurfaced, niggling at the corner of her mind. _I am here,_ its mere presence said. _You cannot shut me out_.

 _No, no, go away, please._ She clenched her hands into tiny fists.

Flavia kept talking, wrapped up in her own story to register Lissa's distress. "One day she was healthy as a horse and the next she was bedridden with _poison_ that ate away at her insides," she bit the last part out angrily, before continuing, "That woman deserved better. A warrior's death, not rotting away in some bed because of some coward's trickery. The same happened to other high-ranking officials, until eventually, I found the worm in our midst. Long story short, I killed him. Bastard had been after Argent and thought Raimi had it, her being the Khan."

"After I put him down, my people decided to try to make me Khan of Regna Ferox again, but… you know how it is. Power and strength come hand in hand. My people deserve better."

She barked in short laughter as she gestured to her bad leg. The sharp sound knocked Lissa into the present and followed the direction of Flavia's hand to an injury, done long ago. Lissa remembered how the wound had almost crippled Flavia, both physically and mentally. She was never quite able to move like she used to, and had left the position of Khan open when she accepted her weakness.

"I set out alone for this mission because I didn't trust anyone anymore, not after what had just happened. The travel was about as pleasant as you would expect, with all these blasted Risen romping over the country. I didn't go two days without running into the abominations."

Lissa looked up from her musings. Something in her tone… "Are you implying that Regna Ferox is better?" she asked with disbelief.

Flavia hesitated, before giving the affirmative. "My people have always had it easy when it came to the Risen, at least in comparison to you all down south. You know, the cold conditions. Damn zombies can't last for long before their limbs freeze up and such." Her tone shifted, and a suspicious expression came over her face. "But lately, things on the home front have seemed a bit _too_ easy. I wish I could boast that it's due to our superiority in battle, but that would not be true. Their numbers are thinning, but I suspect that it's because of a withdrawal."

The princess's eyes widened. "Something big coming?"

"I don't know. All I know from our scout reports is that there are less and less Risen each day in the North. What does your intel inform you about conditions here?"

Lissa shook her head, saying, "It's all the same news, every day. We can't get too deep out there because our flying units have been crippled-there just aren't enough Pegasus knights or enough willing to go, really." Her mind spun. "Do you think they've all gone to Chon'sin perhaps?"

"No," replied the blonde-haired khan. "Chon'sin and her allies are no more. Save for a stray band of resistance, the country is completely packed with Risen. Nothing lives there, not anymore."

Fear. Despair. Say'ri-was she all right? Tears crept up on the edges of Lissa's eyes. They burned in their wake-it was too soon after their last appearance. Khan Flavia pointedly looked away, and Lissa gratefully wiped them away. Still, Lissa felt the tremors returning because of Flavia's words. Despair. Fear. Her nails pushed against her palms, trying for some relief, but the thin cloth barrier was _just_ enough to prevent it. _For now._

"...issa. Lissa, listen to me," Flavia said.

She took the princess's soft, gloved hands in her own calloused ones and looked into her eyes. Lissa felt hands pry open hers and soon, she held a small object. It was spherical, and hard. Lissa knew exactly what this was, and prepared her last question. "...Argent?"

"Yes, I have brought the Lightsphere, as you have asked." Flavia hesitated, then took a deep breath. "But I must confess… I have not been completely honest with you, Lissa," the once and present khan muttered gravely. "It shames me to admit it, but I didn't come here solely out of mistrust of my people."

"I came because I knew that staying behind, doing the same routine, killing enemies who would only end up being resurrected-all of it is useless. This world is ruined." Flavia hung her head low, but Lissa didn't need to see her shaking back to know that the proud woman was crying. She comfortingly covered Flavia's hands while holding Argent.

"I need to know, Lissa. Will this Shield of yours… will it save my people? I know what those kids were when they came, _who_ they were. Will it work this time? Even if only in a remote timeline, I need to know. I need to know that all of the suffering wasn't for nothing, that somewhere out there, that crusty old man is trying to overthrow me again for control of Regna Ferox."

Lissa didn't know what to say for a bit, before murmuring, "...I don't know, not for certain at least."

Flavia looked at her with such a cracked expression that Lissa was stunned into silence, then emptiness. _That expression… she looks like me. How can I help her if I can't even help myself?_

"So that's it then. The future is written," whispered Flavia.

Something blue flickered off to the side, and Lissa's eyes were hesitant, but draw to it. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of determined eyes and the glint of a noble sword. Her strength returned, but she knew this came at a cost.

She shook her head, and said, "No. I don't know for sure, but what I do know is that this time, it's different. It all is."

"What?"

"The children this time, they all know more, have more knowledge about the threats to the future. They're different, Flavia, all of them, in every way but name. I know you're scared nothing is going to work with what happened, but I believe in my heart that this time, this time will be it. An old friend of mine once told me that the future was not written. If we give up now, we disgrace her memory, and everyone who sacrificed so much to get as far as we have." Lissa had stood up during her outburst, and was now looking down upon the once-Khan.

The blue figure turned to the princess, and Lissa could have sworn she saw a tear-streaked face and a proud smile.

 _Wait, don't go. Don't leave me._ Then it was gone in a flash.

Flavia noticed Lissa staring intensely at the corner and followed her gaze. Nothing. Just an empty intersection of walls. She cleared her throat and Lissa once more turned her attention to the older woman.

"Thank you, Lissa."

Lissa offered up her signature grin, but it looked forced. "No problem! As princess of Ylisse it's my job to keep people up when they're feeling down. And I bet you're feeling _pretty_ down after all of that traveling, right?"

The warrior looked at the mage with a confused expression, before replaying uncertainly, "Yes?"

But Lissa didn't notice. Her voice was airy and light. There was a lost, faraway expression in her eyes, as if…

"I thought so, Flavia. But I'm curious. I thought Khan Raimi was going to send troops down to aid us. Why did you come alone?"

 _She wasn't…_

"Actually, wait. Let me just let Owain know you're here so you can tell me all about how Regna Ferox is doing recently."

 _Quite…_

"Yes, Lissa. Thank you. I'll tell you all about it."

 _...completely there._

* * *

A/N "tfw" you start great but lose momentum and default to shitty drama lines. Expect actually moving chapters in the coming week.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N A continuation, because being running out of other options in life drives me to do this. Part 1 of 3 to be posted tonight. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

It was dawn.

After riding for so long nonstop, Adriane greeted the approaching, bleary sun with equally bleary eyes. She had finally halted the undead horse on a cliff with an exceptional vantage point of Ylisstol. There it was, in all of its gleaming glory.

Well, at least that's how she imagined it appeared, once upon a time. Now the capital looked worse for wear, with walls that were strong and fortified, yet clearly worn after so many years of conflict. Even from her distance, Adriane saw how several towers were either decrepit or in terrible need of repair.

 _How has it taken my master so long to overtake it?_

As she was dwelling on her next course of action, the runaway commander felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her mind, as if someone had taken a sword and driven it through her skull.

"Agh!" she groaned, clutching her head and falling.

" **Did you really think I would not notice?"**

It was a booming voice, loud and clear. It was angry. Darkness descended.

" **Your insubordination? Your defiance?"**

When Adriane opened her eyes, she was nowhere. Everywhere was black without end, without light. Here in the blackness it was just him and her. He floating in front of her, a malevolent and powerful aura surrounding his form. She lower than her, standing, but on what floor she could not perceive. Neither spoke, one choosing to blankly watch the other squirm. The silence was palpable, rare and fragile and downright awkward.

Adriane briefly wondered if she had made a mistake in coming. _No, I cannot falter. But… should I speak first?_ At the moment her mind was racing, caught up in countless scenarios, ways this meeting could go. _Here goes._ "Master, I-"

The snowy-haired tactician raised up a hand and she was instantly silenced.

"Interesting that you're here in Ylisstol so soon. I knew the southern Ylisseans were nothing more than maggots, but one would think that they would be able to withstand for longer than half a week." Grima cut in conversationally, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he glanced sideways at the woman.

She looked tired, to say the least. Her normally immaculate navy hair was tousled and grey bags hung from underneath her eyes. At his words, she had rightfully cringed before falling into a crisp salute. "I abandoned my post, Master Grima. But I am not sorry. I came here to be of the most use to you, and to remind you of my debt and… gratitude towards you," the seventeen-year old said.

Master Grima offered her a small smile of amusement, but his expression was still tinged with suspicion. "I see. I suppose it cannot be helped now, with you here already. How should I respond to this insubordination, hm?" His tone was now predatory.

Danger. Adriane threw herself to the ground, or whatever passed for it in the void. She prostrated and bit her tongue. She heard his steps grow louder as he approached her. Finally she saw the hem of his tactician's cloak, covered in dirt and well-worn from use. "Let's play question and answer, shall we?" his deep voice intoned from above her head. Adriane nodded her head once to show she was listening.

"How did you get here?"

"By horseback. Risen."

"A long distance. When did you arrive?"

"Just now." A pregnant pause. "I rode all night without stopping." Just thinking about it reminded Adriane of how sleepy she actually was, and her face grew taut as she stifled a yawn.

An even longer pause from him, and Adriane grew anxious.

Then, "How did you hear about this?"

"Morgan."

"Curious. How did you get past Morgan? She's very observant."

"Her intolerance of bugs proved to be a helpful distraction."

A long silence, then finally a short chuckle. "Curious indeed… Last one, Adriane. Stand up. Look at me," her master commanded.

Warily, she brought herself up to her feet. She met his deep gaze for a second before averting her eyes quickly. He growled, grabbing her shoulders and jerking her forward. "I _said_ look at me." Her head snapped up and she was forced to comply.

"Now… why did you come here? Why did you directly disobey me?"

Her lips were suddenly dry in nervousness. She licked them once before whispering, "Forgive me, Master Grima. I only thought of you. During my… assignment in the southern lands, I encountered information on a plot against you. Coupled with the knowledge of your upcoming victory, I… acted brashly and rushed here, to your aid."

She bit her lower lip anxiously, desiring his approval and forgiveness. Anything to know that what she did was okay and that he wasn't really mad at her, not really.

His crimson eyes darted to her mouth, then her chin, her nose, her neck, her eyes, searching for something that she didn't know. Honesty? Determination? Loyalty? Adriane did her best to make her intentions clear and was rewarded when the steely look in his eyes eventually softened.

"You're an idiot," Master Grima proclaimed. But although his words had bite, his hand had left her shoulder momentarily to brush away a stray blue lock of hair. His hands were rough, and grazed her cheek like a feather. He continued in a murmur. "But clever enough, and loyal, and so very much like..." he trailed off wistfully, solemnly, then cleared his throat.

 _Like_ who _?_ she thought. Adriane felt an unfamiliar feeling flare in her chest. It wasn't pleasant.

She kept silent as Grima said, "I had a contingency plan for the event in which you could not be kept away."

 _He's letting this slide?_

For the first time Adriane noticed how close the two of them were and she stilled. There was less than an inch between their noses and she could smell his breath. There was honey, cloying and sweet. But there was also something else, a dark undertone that set off alarm bells in her mind. She couldn't quite place what it was, but the combination in his scent called out to her, simultaneously drawing her deeper and repelling her form that dark, shadowy abyss that was he...

The spell was broken when the white-haired tactician spoke. "Do you accept?" he asked, already knowing the answer. There was only ever one option, with him.

Mutely she nodded. Their eyes met and Adriane felt her heart stop for a moment. The only thing keeping her grounded was the feel of his fingers on her shoulders. At some point they had dug themselves into her shoulder blades, and she was dully aware of the pain.

Master Grima closed those red eyes with a sigh before he leaned away and reestablished the distance. The air cleared of its headiness. An unreadable expression graced his face, and his eyes betrayed nothing as he scanned his disoriented subordinate. "Good," he finally said and handed her a tied up scroll from within his cloak. "I expect a complete victory, nothing less." His voice was once more dispassionate and cold. She gathered her senses and obediently pocketed the missive. This Adriane was accustomed to.

Relieved, she bowed deeply, ignoring the fast pace her heart was going. Ba-dum, ba-dum, like the pounding of war drums. _Be still,_ she growled at it. _Control._ The commander held her bowed position, awaiting Grima's conclusion of their meeting.

But it seems that Master Grima was not yet finished. "Adriane!" The woman glanced back, surprised. Master Grima looked… sheepish almost. His right hand was outstretched towards her, but he pulled it back with a self-reprimanding look. She raised an eyebrow.

A rosy color dusted his pale cheeks. The man placed a hand behind his neck and wouldn't look at her as he said, "Nothing. You've become an important asset to the cause, Adriane. Because of that, I can't have you suddenly collapsing under the strain. Take care of yourself or I shall be displeased." It was a threat and an order, and Adriane knew she should have felt fear, but… was it just her imagination or was there a hint of _concern?_

 _He… he does care?_ To her mortification, she could feel the heat rising to her own face and she was thankful for formalities as she bowed again. Beaming, she responded, "Y-yes sir! You as well! Erm… not that someone like you would need to be careful, but…"

She bowed, and tried to attribute the rush of blood in her head to the frequent respectful bowing. Of course it was from that. Of course.

The woman stole a quick peek at the tactician from under her bangs. Master Grima continued to look pointedly at the far wall, a sign that she was dismissed. Still, there was a small curve to his lips that wasn't there before. Genuine, without a hint of malice or insincerity.

The pitch blackness of the void abruptly left her, and Adriane realized that she was lying on grassy earth. Slowly, the rest of her senses returned, and she saw the dim light, smelled the stale air, and tasted death and decay. The outskirts of Ylisstol.

Carefully, Adriane picked herself up and reached into her pocket. The scroll.

On the paper, an elegant cursive outlined her new mission, and as Adriane read, a smile slowly grew upon her face. Infiltrate. Position. Assassinate. All of the things she ever wanted, listed on one page with permission to execute without mercy, without restraint. If, _when_ , she managed to pull it off...

Her blade would drink its fill.

Her parents would be avenged.

His dream would be fulfilled.

She would finally feel…. Whole.

 _Was this what happiness felt like?_

It was only after the blue-haired woman had left the hillside that she realized that she had forgotten to ask him just why she had to be kept away in the first place.

* * *

It was only after the mental link had been severed that Grima-Robin?-let out the breath he had been holding. Out, in, out, and in. They had forgotten how much energy it took to maintain such a bond, at least on as _connected_ a level as this one was.

The subsequent intakes of air paled in comparison to the sensory overload from earlier. The air seemed duller somehow, once _she_ was gone.

Adriane. _Lucina,_ at this rate. Though she reeked of human, and sweat, and the sun, even Grima had to admit that there was something in her scent that drew him closer and closer. She smelled of life and flowers and happier times. She smelled of a memory of an aging man, waiting to die alone.

He- _Grima_ -grinned ruefully and shook his head. He collapsed back into the chair and swung his legs lazily over the armrest. He covered his eyes and tried to relive the memory and the emotions that it induced.

There was a fierce pride and feeling of ownership that swelled in his chest. _She_ came for _him_. Because she _worshipped him_ , and would _cheat and lie and kill_ for him-he saw it in her eyes. And those deep blues…

 _Did you see the way she looked at us, human? So much devotion… it's as if she is Lucina, haha,_ Grima recalled gleefully. _It's almost as if she is real._

 _She_ is _real,_ Robin snapped. _Adriane and Lucina are real, one and the same._

 _No,_ Grima answered. _Real, but different. This woman is ours. She belongs to us in body and soul, spirit and mind. If we told her to dance like that mother of hers used to, she'd do it with no questions. You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?_ Silence, and Grima cackled into the vacuum. _But I have to admit, the best part is if we told her to kill, she'd ask how and how many, and would feel nothing in doing so. The girl is ours through and through._

No response. Then the human thought, _What happened to keeping Lucina safe?_

Grima rolled his crimson eyes. For all of his so-called intelligence, his Avatar still wasn't able to grasp such a simple concept.

 _We had a plan, Grima. You, Morgan, and I. She was not to be put in any real danger,_ the human in his mind objected. Grima felt the growing anger within as Robin fired at him, _she was supposed to be kept away. The order was given, you and I agreed. Yet you give her the one of the most life-threatening positions in the entire fucking army! The front lines… what if something were to happen to her again?_

The Fell Dragon felt his Avatar sag at the thought with despair and he scoffed. Oh, here we go again. As much as Grima relished the suffering of others, Robin's sad spells over the years had ceased to amuse him. It didn't help that even the Fell Dragon could feel the mind gap between the two grow smaller and smaller, so the human's feelings became the dragon's.

 _Shut up,_ he snarled. He hated the way that a small portion of him agreed with Robin, as if _his Adriane_ couldn't handle those insignificant humans. _Nothing is going to happen to our little pet. All of her training has made sure of that._ Somewhere inside, Robin cringed, but agreed. So far, so good. _And besides, did you see how absolutely bloodthirsty she was for those humans? Absolutely beautiful. Once we let her have her little revenge, we can play it to our advantage. She'll stay with us forever this time._

Robin weakly made an argument about her age, that she was too young, inexperienced. Too pure, for such filthy, filthy, old… _A child? Age?_ Grima responded. _What is age to one who has lived as long as I? As you? Besides, she made a promise. 'No matter what the future holds,' she had said. This time we can hold her to that._ The demon felt his hostage's constitution weaken.

 _Forever,_ Robin mused wistfully. Grima wanted to throw up at the sentiment, but instead smiled pleasingly. He had won for now. Job done, his stomach growled, demanding sustenance. He then reached behind the chair for the hidden stash of food.

His long fingers retrieved a small jar of honey, which he dipped two fingers into. The two took a moment to inspect the golden substance cling to the digits before, for lack of a spoon, inserting the digits into the mouth. Their tongue worked the stickiness off. Robin hummed contentedly, reminded of golden days and pleasured nights. Grima remembered when his tongue removed human bones from between his dragon teeth.

The first swallow went down easily, cloyingly sweet but compliant. The second did not go so well.

As the man-dragon sucked the second dip, the sweetness clung to the inside of his throat and refused to go down. It began fighting the attempt for air.

"Ngghh," he grunted, before submitting coughs into his sleeve. The coughs mercilessly wracked the once proud frame.

Cough.

This had been going on for quite some time.

Hack.

It was not a simple choking on food. There was nothing to stop this… this _decay._

Cough.

All of this rot, slowly accumulating over the years. It was not natural. Nothing could halt or postpone the process, unless somehow, this form was replaced…

Hack.

But no, it was too risky. The consequences were _too_ _high._

Inevitably, resignation.

The coughing fit felt like it had lasted an eternity. When he pulled away, red and sticky yellow splotches stained the cloth and his lips. Disgusting. Pathetic. His lips curled in contempt at the sight. It was like seeing an old acquaintance, one he did not particularly care for. Then everything just drained out of his body. He-the man? The demon? It was hard to tell anymore-suddenly felt so _tired_ and _spent._

He just wanted to destroy without care. The other, to possess without consequence. They thought they had forever.

The two were then reminded just how long their forever really was.

* * *

A/N Low key, this whole fic would be a good lemon. Too bad I can't write anything vaguely citrusy.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N Everyone is _so_ out of character. Part 2 of 3. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

"You know, despite everything, he really, _really_ loved her."

Owain's ears perked up from the break in silence. From outside of his mother's door, he became privy to the two women's conversation. He listened… just in case, for his mother's sake.

"I find that hard to believe," came Flavia's muffled response, "considering what happened."

"No! He did!" Lissa insisted, her enthusiasm causing her words to become clearer. "I remember how he never spoke a word to anyone but Chrom before her, but after she arrived, it was like he was a whole different person!"

"If he had really loved her, he wouldn't have come back." Flavia's voice was hard and biting.

After a short pause, "that's just the thing. It's because he-sniffle-cared, too much you know? That's why I think… this is going to work. This time, we don't have her around…" Owain tried his best to hang on to Lissa's every word, but the princess trailed off into soft crying.

"Mom…" he whispered, contemplating if he should go in. The decision was made for him as he heard Flavia's gentle consolations, and he knew that for now, Lissa would be the best she would ever be.

* * *

A couple hours after Flavia had left, Owain leaned against the doorframe to his mother's room, a blank expression on his face.

He was ever vigilant, always watching, despite the late hour. It was what enabled him to see the dark crow flying in the hallways. The chestnut-haired warrior held out a finger and the bird rested on the digit. It held out a foot, in which was tied a tiny parchment.

In swirly, childish handwriting:

 _Come to the lower hallway, south side. Gerome is already watching. Severa wants to talk._

Owain's brow furrowed at the last sentence, but he kicked himself off of the doorframe and tucked the note inside his jacket. Eyes roving the night sky, he caught a glimpse of a dark wing, and a brief shine of steel. Gerome.

Knowing that his mother was as safe as she could be, he departed the empty hallway.

* * *

After the long trek through the castle, the night had started to bleed into day. Looking up, Owain saw that dull grey clouds congested the atmosphere, filling the air with a heavy dampness that made it somewhat hard to breath. However, precise beams of light managed to cut through the cloudy exterior and the warrior enjoyed the little light provided.

A beautiful day outside, all things considered.

He hadn't realized he was speaking out loud. "Yeah, I guess. If you're into the whole cursed and slowly dying theme," a feminine voice replied. There was a hint of sarcasm and bossiness in her voice, something Owain had come to associate with...

Severa stepped out from behind a column and leaned against it. She made no further movement towards him. At the sight of the ginger-haired commander, Owain bristled, but nearly managed to keep it down.

"Ah, yes. I, the great Owain, the legendary hero with the hungering sword hand, have come to grace you with my presence." He finished his grand entrance with a flourish and a bow, eyes never leaving hers.

Severa crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. She was in no mood for his antics. "Cut the theatrics, Owain. How is Flavia? Does she have it?" The redhead asked.

The other Ylissean nodded, a strange smile still pasted on his face. "But of course! The courageous former Khan wouldn't have traveled distances far and wide without the requested bounty! As of right now, the sacred treasure is secure and safe in the hands of my dear, dear mother. Speaking of which-" The grin melted off and his playful demeanor disappeared.

"You broke your promise. You said that you would keep her away from Lissa." His tone was accusatory. His eyes were fire. Severa sighed, knowing this conversation was inevitable

"Flavia would speak to no one else," she replied flatly. Owain shook his head angrily, all pretenses nonexistent. "Severa, you _know_ what seeing someone from the past could do to her-seeing someone _real_ and not some _apparition_ ," he hissed. "I checked on Mother after Flavia left. Naga, Severa, she was _lying on the floor_ rambling to herself again!"

So Lissa had relapsed. Severa had feared as much, but there was nothing to do about it now. She had spoken the truth-Flavia had become much more suspicious and only seemed to trust those from the past. To gain her trust, Severa had to break Owain's. The redheaded warrior just wished that the once-Khan had chosen someone with a more… able mind to guard the gemstone.

"There was nothing to do about it now," she muttered, feeling the burden weighing down on her. She leaned against the wall and let the words hang in the air before continuing, "You know that, right?"

Owain was silent and wouldn't meet her eyes.

"You, me, the other Future Children… we're going back, but it will only be us. It _can't_ be anyone else but us," Severa said, melancholy. "Sooner or later… we'll have to leave this world and _everyone else_ behind. You can't imagine how this feels-not yet anyways because you haven't known about the plan for too long-knowing that one day, all of this will be gone. As if it had never happened."

"So that makes it okay to do whatever the hell we want now? Because it won't matter in the end? Because guess what Severa, it matters to _me."_

Severa shook her head. "No, it doesn't make it okay, but it doesn't change the fact that it was necessary for Lissa to speak to Flavia herself. I'm sorry," she apologized, "but I have a job to do, and that's getting all of our asses through whatever portal Lissa keeps talking about and saving the goddamned world. I hurt Lissa now, Owain, so that she doesn't have to feel that way in the future."

Owain was quiet again before Severa heard a long-drawn out sigh. "I know, it's just… painful to see her like this, even if it's practically all I've known. She was just starting to get better…" A morose aura covered the young man, and Severa felt a stab of guilt when she saw him trembling ever so slightly.

Severa scowled. _Great, time to add caretaker to the job description_. She pushed herself off of the column and stood next to the lone man. She lifted her hand and placed it on his upper back, patting, albeit a bit awkwardly, like she had seen other people do. Small consolation for Owain, but it seemed to be enough. Owain stopped shaking and looked up.

"Thanks, Severa."

"Don't expect me to do this again."

"Heh, I know. Feels nice though." Pause.

"This doesn't mean that I like you or anything!"

"I know that too."

"What's that supposed to mean, huh? Are you saying that I'm incapable of liking?"

Audible smirk. "Not at all, _fair maiden_. But I do have to wonder... are you only comforting me because I looked so _blue_?" Suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Second pause. Severa felt a hot flush coming onto her cheeks as she caught the implication.

"Idiot! I don't know what you're talking about!" Severa yelled suddenly, and pushed Owain's back with enough force to send him sprawling.

The chestnut-haired youth landed face down with a grin, but his smile and laughter completely vanished when he looked up. For from his position, he could clearly see out the window, and found out that it was not such a beautiful day after all, not when Risen were clear on the horizon.

"Severa?" he voiced seriously. She had already followed his line of direction. "We have to go. Do you have everything on you?" _Are you armed? Are you ready to fight? Are you ready to die, if need be?_

And with a heavy heart, the answer was yes. Always, always, yes.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N And it all comes together. Kind of. I'm so filler-y it hurts. Maybe I can bullshit my way through the fillers by calling them "arcs." Yeah. Welcome to Arc 1, of insert undetermined number here. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

A crow stood on the outside of a closed window. Attached to its right leg was a small slip of paper. Impatient, the black-feathered bird poked the glass with its beak. Tap, tap. "Hold on just a second!" cried a sing-song voice from inside.

One second passed. Tap. "Wait!" yelled the same voice. A loud crash resounded through the armory as a white-haired shape knocked over a battered knight suit.

Tap… tap… taptaptaptaptapta- the window swung open and the bird cocked its head to the side. He was greeted with a face of a young human girl whose hair was up in snow-white pigtails. She wore a worn, but gleaming suit of armor and her face was flushed from her hurry to answer the window. Slight irritation was on her face. _You said one second_ , the crow's innocent eyes seemed to say, and Cynthia huffed in mock annoyance.

"Yeah, but I also told you to wait. There really was no... _caws_ for your impatience," she pouted comically. The bird sincerely wished it could roll its eyes.

The pegasus knight spotted the crow's message and raised a brow. The crow lifted its wings slightly, as if to shrug. It continued to look at her expectantly with wide eyes. "All right, here you go," Cynthia relented. The crow really was too cute, she thought happily, giving the feathered creature a single kernel of corn. As the crow took experimental bites of its reward, Cynthia swiftly extracted the message and read the single line of script.

 _Flavia is here with Lissa. She has the gem, but Lissa is in bad condition. Tell Inigo._

Her good mood dissipated and was replaced with an odd mixture of tension and relief. It was a relief that the former Khan Flavia had arrived safely with the gemstone, but there was the tension from what the Emblem's completion would entail.

From the table in the middle of the armory, Kjelle glanced up from polishing her armor. "What does it say?" she asked quietly. Cynthia informed her stoic friend. Kjelle only nodded once before resuming her task, with perhaps a little more force than before. Both of them knew that Flavia's arrival was one step closer to the ritual and it put them on edge. Once Say'ri and Noire came with the last gemstone, that was it. There was no turning back. Cynthia didn't allow herself much time to dwell on the what-if's, but a part of her was definitely worried.

Like her friends, she had heard stories about the Time Before, when Emmeryn was alive and Grima hadn't been reborn. Hadn't killed Chrom and the Shepherds. Hadn't killed the mysterious young travelers who bore a striking resemblance to the Shepherds… She gulped and redirected her thoughts elsewhere. Things will be different this time, she was sure of it.

Looking once more at the note, Cynthia thought about the long walk up to Inigo's study and mentally groaned. Sure the long, winding stairs leading up to the study was dramatic enough, but her legs ached already.

But as soon as she reached the door, a candle was lit in her mind. Cynthia poked her head back into the armory and chirped, "Hey Kjelle, know where Severa is?" She dangled the message at the brunette warrior to imply her meaning. At the suggestion, Kjelle gave her a tiny smirk of amusement, before shaking her head. "Entertaining as it might be to have Severa tell Inigo a message again, she's already out. South Wall," she replied.

Cynthia's mood dropped. Bummer. It would have been funny to see Severa blushing and complaining about the extra work it would take to get to Inigo, but delivering the message anyway. With a short sigh, Cynthia grabbed her spear and headed out, but not before tripping over the fallen suit of armor.

"Ow!"

"Are you alright, Cynthia?" drawled Kjelle, still engrossed in her polishing. "Y-yeah, sorry!" Cynthia responded, embarrassed. A door slammed shut immediately after, leaving Kjelle alone in the room.

She sighed, and walked to the door. "...I had better pick this up before _someone_ trips on it again," she muttered.

* * *

"Hello? Inigo?" Cynthia banged on the wooden door to his study. The door opened and Inigo looked at her tiredly. "Yes, Cynthia?" he blearily said. There was an imprint of several sheets of paper on his face-probably from sleeping at his desk again. Chancing a look, the pegasus knight could see that papers littered the room even more than usual, and would have inspected it some more if the reigning ruler of Ylisse hadn't given the biggest yawn in the history of mankind. He stayed quiet after that and shoved his hands in his pockets, not even bothering to hide the disarray.

Cynthia's heart reached out to her dear friend. Inigo didn't even attempt to flirt with her-he must have really been stressed out. Ever since Severa had told him about the ritual, no one had seen the blue-haired prince out and about the castle.

"Got a message from Owain," she said, raising up the small note from earlier. "He says that Flavia is here and talking to Lissa. We have the gem, but I'm going to guess that seeing Flavia put Lissa off again."

Inigo nodded tiredly as he digested the information. "Okay." Then he sighed and made to close the door, but he stopped halfway through the motion.

"Cynthia… the plan for the portal… what do you think of it?" Inigo asked.

She clenched her fists in front of her. "I think it's a great idea. Just imagine, you, me, and everyone else out there, fighting for a better future!" Cynthia responded intensely.

The blue-haired prince let out a short smile at her heroics, before saying, "But… aren't you worried? It could all go wrong again. It did before."

Her smile faltered, but only for a fraction of a second. She shook her head vigorously. "Not this time. It's going to be different, I can feel it. And, keeping this between you and me, I'm a little bit excited. I'm going to see my mom again!"

He shrugged. As childish as Cynthia was sometimes, even Inigo had to admit that her cheerfulness could be contagious. In all of his conflicting thoughts on the plan, he had forgotten that by going back, he could see _them_ again-Mother, Father, maybe even baby Lucina…

Cynthia punched him in the shoulder-hard and unexpectedly painful because of the armor. "Yeah! That smile suits you more than that dumb frown, mister!" she crowed triumphantly. Inigo glared at the girl, only half-meaning it. She really could be careless, but at least her heart was in the right place. Besides, it wasn't the first time he'd been subjected to violence by a pretty girl.

Suddenly, a bell rang. _Ding… dong…_ Both teenagers ceased their laughter and focused their attention on the rings. One meant a wake-up. It was not quite dawn. Two meant a drill. Inigo hadn't issued one. Three meant an accident inside the walls, be it a stray group of Risen or a rogue fire.

 _Ding…_ Four meant a Risen attack.

The last bell hit. _Dong._

* * *

From her position at the warning bell, Severa barked orders frantically. Surrounding her were her childhood friends, all comrades, all equally capable warriors. Inigo was noticeably missing, but Severa knew that after he had assembled the villagers into safe zones, he would join them presently. She put her hand on her forehead to block out some of the sun as she scanned the enemy forces mounting against Ylisstol.

East Wall looked bad, West Wall seemed slightly better, North looked to be the easiest to defend, and South… the Risen in that area looked to be scattered and sparse, but she wouldn't put it past Grima to divert her attention from that area. Still, with the other walls in obvious need of help, she had to concentrate a majority of her forces elsewhere.

"Laurent! I need you to go with Nah and some villagers to the western wall and help defend. If the situation gets bad there, don't even bother staying out and becoming mincemeat. Go back in and fortify the walls as best as possible, _got it?_ " Nah gave a solemn bow to the fiery commander before standing on the edge of the wall. After a bright flash of light, the petite humanoid was replaced with a rose-pink dragon. She wordlessly gestured to the dark-cloaked mage to ride, and the two flew hastily to the west.

"Kjelle and Brady! Same instructions, East." The two looked at each other pensively, reluctant at their pairing. Severa narrowed her eyes at them. "Don't get in my way," Kjelle finally directed at Brady, walking towards her designated post. The auburn-haired healer just sighed, accepting his fate, and followed her.

"On second thought, Yarne, go join them. East Wall needs help _fast_ ," emphasized Severa, hoping that Yarne would catch her hint. The half-Taguel cringed in surprise of her addressing him, but speedily bounded after the two in his shifted form.

"That leaves Owain and Cynthia on the North, and Gerome and I on the South." This arrangement was best for Owain, really. By giving those two the easiest and closest wall to defend, Owain could reach his mother at any time if need be. That was the unspoken agreement between the remaining three, and Owain shot them all a grateful look. With a flutter of pegasus wings, Cynthia and Owain bounded towards their mark.

Severa was alone with the stoic wyvern rider, who was watching the pegasus rider go. "They'll be fine," she murmured reassuringly. "Focus on what we have to do." He only nodded, and summoned Minerva.

Once the two were mounted, the aged wyvern took to the air and Severa felt the familiar heart-stopping sensation of flying. High over the land, the two were free to observe the sweeping destruction that the past few years have wrought over the outer walls. Sickly grass, scrawny trees… Up ahead, just over a nearby hill, there was a lone bridge with a flowing river underneath. The water always looked the same bubbly blue, but they knew from experience how deceivingly polluted the source really was.

"I don't think our Wall will be at too much of a threat level, at least compared to what the others have, but I can't just dismiss the possibility of danger," she spoke into his ear. "After a quick sweep, I need you to go help out Kjelle, Brady, and Yarne, as they lack aerial assistance. Hopefully nothing too major comes out of here…"

Severa's voice trailed off as she spotted a dark cluster of figures chasing a lone figure on a horse. It was Risen, too many for her to count, but what shocked her the most was the fleeing victim.

Was that… was that _Noire?_

From a great distance, Severa couldn't be sure, but she still watched with horror as an arrow shot through the terrified horse's leg. The great beast stumbled a couple more steps before collapsing on its' side, taking its rider with down as well. However, the small figure quickly adapted, hopping off of the animal and pulling out a bow from behind. She spun midair and quickly fired off one, two shots and nailed two pursuers. That done, the archer ran.

Gerome stiffened at the sight. It was obvious now. "Gerome!" yelled Severa. "We have to do something!"

He stiffened in his seat, eager to comply, but worried at the same time. "Severa… I can't. There's too many ranged attackers. If I fly Minerva close enough for combat, we're both done for!"

Severa dug her fingers into his frame in frustration. Noire was her friend, she couldn't…

"Drop me then," she said resolutely.

Gerome turned towards her. Though his mask covered his face, she didn't need to see his eyes to know what he thought of her crazy, even suicidal, suggestion.

"You heard me. Drop me. I'll protect her, but I need you to go and get as much help as you can get. South Wall is by far the short end of the stick," she commanded. Gerome needed no more explanation. In times like these, it was listen to orders or die.

Noire was reaching the bridge by now, but even the two could see how winded the archer was becoming. Noire was never one for sustained exercise, preferring to station herself in one area and shoot enemies from a distance.

"Prepare yourself!" Gerome shouted over the howl of the wind. Severa nodded, and placed a hand on his shoulder to reposition herself so that her legs were swinging on only one side of Minerva. The ground rushed up to meet them as the wyvern nosedived towards the melee.

Severa could feel her heart thundering and willed it to be calm. A hundred feet… eighty… fifty… thirty… twenty… _Noire, I'm coming_ , she thought, and jumped off. Minerva flew back at a sharp angle, avoiding magic bolts and arrows with finesse.

Thud! The ginger-haired warrior unsheathed her weapon just in time to drive the blade into the back of a Risen berserker. The monster started to dissipate into dust as it broke her fall, but already Severa had raised her sword to meet her next attacker. "Agh!" she yelled, slashing another undead across the chest. Its red eyes faded, only to be replaced with another foe. More and more she cut down, and with each step she neared her archer friend.

Soon the redhead found herself on the middle of the bridge. "Noire!" she shouted when she was within a couple feet of the other girl. "S-Severa? Oh thank g-goodness!" Noire fired off another arrow, nailing a rival Risen archer through the eyes. Sweat beaded her forehead and the archer breathed heavily as she notched another. Severa hacked down on a shorter Risen, her sword drawing a line of symmetry down its skull before it disappeared. The redhead took a final step and was right next to the archer.

Severa and Noire stood back to back, feeling each other breathe heavily. The captain of the guard glared at the surrounding Risen as they closed in on the bridge. "Th-there's so m-many of them!" Noire stammered. Despite her worries, she managed to down two spell-slinging cadavers in quick succession. From her behind, Severa grunted, "Quiet! Gerome will be here with the others-" she dashed and stabbed an enemy, hopping back in formation afterwards "-soon! For now, fight!"

Initially, Severa's plan was to pair up with Noire and, with their combined strength, fight their way past the bridge and to Ylisstol's walls. From how the Risen fought, Severa had felt secure in their abilities to force an escape.

But the numbers kept coming, and coming, and coming. Unceasing, without end. The hordes of Risen swarmed the little bridge, and Severa was straining under the pressure. From behind her, she could feel Noire tense up as she pulled the bow back, and release the arrow with a little more tiredness as they went on. Sweat poured in rivulets down the sides of her face, and Severa savagely pushed her bangs aside. Her muscles were becoming sorer and the fatigue weighed heavily on her. It felt like she and Noire had been fighting for hours. Where were the others?

She heard a sharp cry of pain, and felt a slump against her back. Noire groaned and Severa felt as if someone had dumped ice water on her head. "Noire?!" she exclaimed, dispatching several more Risen with the difficult of Noire's dead weight. She then turned her attention towards the archer. The brunette's face was shadowed by her hair, but Severa could make out her pained expression. Letting her eyes rove down for a split second, she saw Noire clutching her right forearm with her left hand, and the red seeping through the fingers. Intermingled with the red was a sickly green. She swore. Poison.

"Idiot," Severa hissed, grabbing Noire and propping up against the side wall of the bridge. Noire moaned a little and hardly moved. Her bow lay uselessly beside her. The redhead was faced with the very real possibility of her friend's death. "Don't die on me!" Severa stood in front of her friend to face the Risen. She raised her sword until it was level with her face. Then, with a new rush of adrenaline, turned off all thoughts and swung.

* * *

And through it all, a pair of eyes watched. It observed how the redhead fell from a wyvern and charged straight onto the bridge. It watched with some sort of respect as the woman cut her way through the horde of undead to save her friend. It noticed with a dash of hatred and satisfaction that the friend was a familiar archer, who right now was oh-so-conveniently injured.

Adriane blinked once, before sprinting towards the two women at top speed.

A Risen reached out an arm towards her, and with a quick slash, the offending limb fell to the ground. Another swung its axe. She ducked and slashed off its legs before running some more. Nothing would stop her advance.

Finally, she stood next to the red-haired girl with the sword and shield. Without warning, the other girl spun and slashed at Adriane from above. The blue-haired warrior just barely managed to bring her sword up horizontally in a block.

Adriane met the girl's maroon eyes with her own grey, and registered the shocked look on the other's face. "W-what? Who are you? What are you doing here?!" the redhead said.

Every instinct screamed at Adriane to end this pathetic girl's life. She managed to tamp those feelings down and focused on her next course of action. From behind the girl, Adriane could see an approaching enemy and the shine of steel. "Look out!" she yelled, before pushing the other girl aside and blocking the attack. She felt the force of the blow as her arms absorbed the shock, before retaliating with a sound kick.

The blade master sunk to its knees and Adriane took the opportunity to decapitate her opponent.

When she next met eyes with the Ylissean, Adriane saw grudging trust. A temporary arrangement, and nowhere near her goal, but Adriane knew that if she survived this onslaught, she would be that much closer to finding out the plan and erasing all possibility of it happening.

 _For my parents, for Master Grima,_ she repeated to herself as a mantra. She channeled all of her energy in every precise swing, every calculated blow.

Even alongside an unfamiliar partner, Adriane found that on the bridge their teamwork… _flowed_. The redhead's blunt, head-on style of fighting synergized with her own fast-paced swordplay. It became an unspoken understanding that the redhead would take on the slower enemies and soak up damage with her shield, while Adriane would weave in to finish them off. With the limited amount of space on the bridge, only a set number of Risen could actually come and attack them, which facilitated their system.

Of course, there were flaws. Being melee fighters, they had to be in close combat to put down the Risen. However, neither could venture very far from their original position and take out their ranged opponents. Whenever Adriane tried to dispatch the archers and mages in the distance, a surge of undead would rush forward at the redhead, forcing Adriane to help. And the other woman refused to budge from her injured friend's side, which meant that the blue-haired woman couldn't leave at all. At least, not if she wanted to keep those two Ylisseans alive. _For now._

Adriane's lip curled in annoyance at the predicament, but she continued fighting. Still, the two couldn't go on forever. She couldn't dodge every single spell or arrow, and while her wounds were minimal, she was beginning to lose count how many she had sustained throughout the fight. And with every movement, every attack she put out, Adriane felt her energy draining.

And the Risen's numbers felt endless, and the two were pushing their limits.

She ducked under a flying arrow, the point sailing over her head. In the same motion, she swerved her hips to the left, managing to dodge a poison-tipped sword. She turned and deflected a light axe. Defensive sword fighting, that's all it was now, with her movements becoming more and more sluggish. She fell out of sync with the redhead, the other woman caught up in her own solo battle.

A Risen charged at her, and she barely had enough time to raise her sword before its weapon crashed down upon her blade. The walking corpse stared at her with those glowing red eyes for a moment, keeping up the immense amount of pressure and by extension, Adriane in place. Suddenly, it released its pressure and Adriane stumbled forward before she felt cold fingers grasp her neck.

"Ngh," she choked out, before she was slammed on her back on the stone bridge. Darkness and stars filled her vision and she wanted to throw up. Adriane saw the weapon come down on her and it was only by adrenaline alone that she _just_ rolled out of danger. However, the next time she wasn't so lucky. Metal pierced flesh as the blade entered her thigh and _dragged down._

Adriane didn't say anything, despite the blinding pain that flooded her senses. With a determined expression, she picked up her fallen sword and ran through the through the chest. The Risen disappeared, along with the weapon.

She tried to stand, her mangled left leg screaming in protest and dripping blood. She fell back down, and managed to escape the Risen's attention in her weakness. A soft moan escaped her lips, and she hated, _hated_ herself because she _wasn't good enough_ to survive even this.

 _I… I can't fight… not like this..._

Blood pumped in her ears at her failure. The sounds of battle echoed in the background, a dull cacophony of grunts and clangs of weapons. Then, "Severa!" A loud, male voice. Worried, panicked-sounding. Ylissean. _Help_.

"Inigo, over here!" yelled the redhead-Severa.

Adriane shifted to try to get a better look from her position on the ground, but pain, it hurt _so much more_ , and she lay back down. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open, because she knew that if she so much as passed out, there was a high chance she would die out here without medical aid.

"Severa, Naga, are you all right?!"

"I'm fine, really, just…"

But that was how battle worked.

She had learned long ago that in battle, if the weak fell, they stayed down. Having someone help another would just get the two of them killed. No one stopped battle to help another if that person was injured, not when victory was so near. It would be... inefficient.

Blood spilled freely from her leg, making her dizzy with the loss. Voices drifted in and out of her consciousness as Adriane fought.

"...vera, who…" The same male voice.

"...'s okay…elped me…Please ge...them bo... on Minerva… see Bra…" Severa.

"Are… ure?" Doubt in the male. She might not get help after all.

"...es, yes… _trust her_." The fool. _I win._

Adriane smiled, a little blood coming out of the corner of her mouth. She closed her eyes.

* * *

A/N Part 3. May release Part 4 tonight if I get finished with it, but most likely not. Thank you all again for your patience. Good night.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N Will probably update more tomorrow night. I've gotten so much written already, there's just this one… part… that I have not been able to get the way I want just yet. It refuses to be written. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

A void of darkness. Eyes closed. A grassy feeling underneath. Cool breezes, carrying the scent of him. His voice.

"...recovered fully? Let me see." A shifting of movement, and the man next to her closed the small distance between them.

"I'm feeling well, thank you," she responded kindly.

Still, he attempted to inspect her bandaged torso. Earlier, her body had been bleeding profusely after an enemy's weapon had slashed through her side. Now though, the wounds underneath were nearly healed, with only time needed to erase the damage. Only strenuous movement actually caused any real pain.

She swatted his hand away playfully. "Really, love, I'm fine. You worry too much over a few cuts."

He retracted his hands from her stomach and settled one over her right hand. "I do not," he protested quietly. "I have never seen you that hurt in battle. That was a very serious wound. I feared… I feared the worst."

 _He was worried._ His concern for her made her heart soar. As bad as it was due to the circumstances, she still felt a giddiness just from knowing that the stoic, seemingly emotionless tactician _cared_ about _her_.

"Psht, at this rate, if that happens, who knows how you'll ever cope?" she kidded uncharacteristically, high on happiness. "Trust me when I say that it will take a lot more than that to get rid of me." There was a tense silence as his hand on hers subtly tightened.

"Swear to it?" He was only half-joking, at most.

Her heart warmed, and she could feel a small smile creep up. There was only one answer to him, always. Head on his shoulder, she kept her eyes closed as she crossed her heart and hoped to _never_ die.

"Of course I will. I… e..."

* * *

Adriane's eyes fluttered open, voices echoing in her head.

She was greeted with a shadowy sort of light, the kind produced indoors and away from direct sunlight. She was lying on a flat mattress with a coarse, cotton blanket draped over her form. Her sword and scabbard were gone from around her waist, something that made her feel even more vulnerable and endangered.

 _But no. This is Ylisstol, isn't it? That redhead… Severa. She ordered me in. She ordered for me to be taken care of_.

Adriane forced herself to relax before sitting up.

 _Now, where am I?_ she thought hazily, rubbing her eyes free from sleep.

It seemed to be a hospital room of some sort. Against the walls, Adriane could see beds similar to the one she had-patched-up, old, and barely comfortable. About half of them were occupied with similarly injured persons, but it seemed as if only the blue haired warrior was awake.

 _Good. Time to go._

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the small pinpricks of pain in her injured left leg. _Strange._ For some inexplicable reason, she found it strange that it was her _leg_ that was in pain, and not... something else. Her hand shifted upwards from her leg.

Adriane then put a little weight on her leg to test the waters, and couldn't hold back a hiss of pain as her muscles protested. It seemed as if she wasn't as healed as she thought she was. Adriane supposed it was better than bleeding out, but the injury would certainly slow her down. Coupled with her lack of a weapon, she was effectively handicapped. Violence was what she was trained for, after all, not… this infiltration.

But no matter. Even unarmed and in strange territory, even thrust into strange situations, she could still accomplish Grima's will and sabotage whatever the Ylisseans' plan was. She had the will, the determination.

In any case, it was imperative that she slip into anonymity as soon as possible. From the battle on the bridge, she had seen Noire. Luckily the archer bitch had already been struck down by Adriane's arrival, but if Adriane had survived the skirmish with her wounds, there was a high chance that the archer could have too. Noire would recognize the human Risen commander. With a pointed finger from one of their own, the Ylisseans would kill her on sight, regardless of her actions with Severa. Her cover could be blown.

It was best to lie low until Noire was dead.

She put a little pressure on her leg again and hissed at the sensation of phantom spikes jamming themselves into her skin,

"Ey, no movin' that leg! Didn't 'cha learn from your first try?" barked a voice to her left.

Surprised that someone else was awake, the blue-haired woman turned and faced a man around her age, maybe a little older. With his spiked auburn hair and a scar over one eye, it was hard to discern his age. He was hunched over so that that he standing up and she sitting on the bed were the same height.

He was giving her a stern and admonishing look, but despite his gruff exterior, Adriane was given the sense that the brute didn't mean her any harm. Especially considering-she quickly checked him over-his loose cloth robes and healer's staff. She withheld any outer judgment and said nothing.

The man seemed to accept that and simply said, "Wait yer turn, I didn't expect ya to be up so darn soon," before turning his wide back to her to work on a patient.

From her angle she couldn't see the face of the patient, but she glimpsed a petite frame and pallid skin. Seemed familiar. She narrowed her eyes.

The healer raised the staff over the body, muttering several incantations. The healing device emitted a soft green light that seemed to hover plaintively over the patient, before slowly sinking into the body. The pale skin seemed to turn just the slightest bit rosier as the healing process was facilitated.

He leaned further down onto the body, pulling up the blanket as he did so. On the way up, he fluffed the pillow. Finally, he turned to face her, shifting his person so that Adriane still could not see the patient's face.

"I'm sorry," he started. "Like I said, I didn't think ya'd be up so soon, what with that leg and all. I'll needa check yer leg to see how the magic has taken root. I'm Brady, by the way."

"Pleasure," Adriane said dryly. She tugged the blanket covering her leg to the side and managed to remain calm despite the sight that awaited her.

A long, jagged red line ran along her thigh. The skin looked weak and barely grown-it was so thin that Adriane could see the red of her blood lying underneath.

"Usually my healing works better than this, lady," he muttered. He reached out a hand towards her leg, but stopped short instinctively. "May I?" the healer asked, sounding uncharacteristically formal and practiced.

"You're the healer. Do as you must," Adriane said calmly. Very. Calmly. It was all she could do to keep from growling out the words.

Brady nodded and laid his palm flat on her skin, closing his eyes. Adriane watched as first his brow furrowed as he searched, then shot up in surprise. "Woah, lady," he exclaimed, shocked. "Good news-ya don't have any internal bleeding. All of the inside stuff has been taken care of, but for some odd reason, ya have some crazy high resistance to magic. I've never seen anything like it in my life. I guess that's why yer leg wasn't healing as quickly as it should. Yer body rejected a lot of my magic. Why's it like that?"

Adriane closed her eyes, remembering _exactly why_. Exposure. Constant exposure. It had all been a part of her training, her taking magic attacks from the Risen sages, sorcerers, mages of both light and dark, Morgan, and on one occasion _him._ Starting out with just the short reaches of the arcane, the spells and attacks had slowly amped up with power as her body grew accustomed to the abuse. And evolved to stay alive.

Back before Grima's reign, Ylisse heavily employed mages in its military campaigns, as the magic users were valued for their versatility in battle. She had to be ready, and Master Grima had made sure that she had every… advantage. But there was no way she'd tell this incompetent healer _that_.

Well, maybe. Right before she would kill him, someday.

"I do not wish to speak of it," she murmured darkly, "I am who I am because of the actions of the past." None of this would have happened if those _dogs_ hadn't murdered them.

Brady nodded his head in understanding. "Okay, that's fine if ya dun' wanna talk 'bout it." He lapsed into an awkward silence before perking up. "Oh-I forgot to tell you. Thanks fer helpin' out my friend Severa. I checked her earlier and she didn't have as many injuries as she should have, fight like that and all," he said happily. Kindness and compassion for his friend shone on his face.

His friend. He was close to that high ranking Ylissean. As Brady smiled at her with his eyes closed, Adriane studied him once more. Sure he may not look like much, but with the age similarities… he could know something.

Adriane bowed her head humbly. "It was nothing, sir. I only wish that I was able to do more for this world… with Grima on the verge of victory, I lose hope in ever reclaiming these lands," she sighed mournfully. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and saw him scrunching up his face with indecision.

 _Time to seal the deal_. "I used to fight for my friends, my family-" he flinched. _So that was it-_ "but the Grimleal took it all away from me-" _justifiably_ "-a long time ago. These days, it feels as if there is nothing to live for. Nothing will get better." _For you all, so just give up_.

Brady exhaled, his breath coming out shakily. He gave her a nervous grin whilst fidgeting his fingers in contemplation. The blue-haired woman looked down to conceal her incriminating expression.

Finally… "Listen, lady. I'm not actually s'posed to tell anybody this, ya hear, but ya needa know that ya can't give up. Not now, especially not tonight. Naga has a plan. There's this shield, you see…"


	12. Chapter 12

A/N AP tests are stressful and eat up my time. Still, a double chapter update seems like a good idea. Sorry if this seems a bit rushed. I might go back and write up an actual chapter for this shitty cramming, but not now. It doesn't want to come out. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

There had been little time, after the attack on the walls.

With the astronomically increased presence of the Risen, Inigo knew that if they were to act on the plan, it had to be soon or never. So he had prepared for tonight.

He spoke with the Divine Dragon about the spell while Noire and the others recovered in the infirmary. She had agreed to commence the ritual tonight, in one of the palace's massive abandoned ballrooms.

He commanded the remaining palace guard and any volunteers to accompany them, and help protect the Dragon and portal while both were vulnerable.

He arranged everything, and everyone, and by the time the sun fell down, the plan was in motion.

He, for once, felt hope. It was a tainted hope, full of cracks and flaws, but it was a hope nonetheless.

At the end of the room, the Divine Dragon Naga lifted up the Fire Emblem. "I will begin the spell now. Please watch over me as I must concentrate," she called out. Her ethereal voice commanded attention without booming over the low cacophony of the humans. The Divine Dragon then closed her eyes and raised the shield high above her head. The magic began.

Around the great hall, the hundred or so Ylisseans seemed to straighten and ready their weapons with renewed attention. The air seemed to still as Naga first spoke the incantations, but eventually the murmurs returned, albeit a little tense. No one knew how much time Naga required for the sacred ritual, and with each passing second, the chances of the Risen interrupting became more and more likely.

Alongside the other Children, Inigo too felt the anticipation and fear. He rested his hand on the Parallel Falchion, sheathed and strapped around his waist. He wondered if what he was doing was the right thing, if allowing the abandonment of this world was okay if it meant that he and his friends could live. Lissa and Naga… when he had spoken to them regarding the plan earlier, the two were unusually close-mouthed about the entire deal. The blue-haired prince had a sinking feeling that this would be the last he saw of this world.

Would his father be doing the same thing? Inigo was so tired, so exhausted from this responsibility. He'd never asked for this role. He never felt like he was suited for this power. If his big sister were alive, he just knew that she would have treated their people with the authority and kindness that they deserved.

But Lucina was gone.

 _I must stay strong. I may not be the leader that this group deserves, but I'm what they've got for what's ahead, and I'm going to be damn good at it_ , he thought with determination. Inigo's eyes drifted to his side and he smiled despite himself. _Besides, I've got friends who will help me, every step of the way._

Next to him stood Severa, who had already plastered her trademark scowl as she inspected the others. Inexplicably, she seemed to know where Inigo's attention landed, because she instantly turned and glared at him.

"What are you looking at? Make yourself useful and check to see if everything is ready! Idiot," the redhead huffed. Inigo shook his head at her loudness and went off.

"Severa, pray, tell me the hour! Brady of the Sentimentality should be here by now!" exclaimed Owain, worried for his friend.

"He said he wanted to check on some of the patients and go grab some more healing supplies. We don't know if enemies wait for us on the other side, or when we'll be able to restock," said Severa, calm now. She rested her hand on her sword hilt and frowned. "It's been a while. He should be here soon. Everyone else have their equipment?"

The group of fighters nodded. No one voiced their own thoughts about Brady's caretaking. It had become an unspoken rule to avoid talk of what happen to those that stayed in this timeline. "Then we wait," the ginger-haired commander stated simply.

But the moment's respite failed to ease their heavy thoughts. From their location, several windows overlooked the city and provided them with a view of the sprawling metropolis. Or, at least it would have been a view. Like everything else throughout the years, the buildings had been lost to either time, Risen, or the Ylisseans' movement inward. As the population numbers dwindled, Ylisstol had consolidated until practically everyone fit in the castle. The outside was a ghost town.

That knowledge didn't make the sight of the burning and ravaged buildings any better. The Risen were coming for their final victory.

Owain sighed, and then followed it up with a perky expression that seemed the slightest bit forced. Wordlessly, he sauntered over to his mother who seemed amused by his antics.

Naga began to emit a soft glow.

The other children watched as Owain and the last Shepherd conversed. They were always wary, always watchful. Lissa had taken the news of Say'ri's sacrifice surprisingly well, but it wouldn't be the first time that she clamped up her true feelings. All of them had to be on their toes. She couldn't hurt Owain anymore.

Owain hugged his mother tightly and the group held their breath. Leaning against a cracked column, Inigo kept an eye on them.

The theatrical fighter released his mother and tried to discreetly wipe away his tears. Lissa shook her head and tiptoed to take her son's face in her hands. He couldn't hear what she spoke to him, but Inigo observed as Owain seemed to grow more confident in his stature. Lissa kissed Owain's forehead one last time before leaning away. Owain slowly walked back to the others.

On some level, Inigo felt envious of his friend's experience. Without even looking at his other friends, he knew that they all felt the same. To have a parent that was around and alive to care about you that much… and to _knowingly stay behind_ and _die_ so you could live…

There were no words.

Lissa wrapped her arms around herself and sighed. In one hand she wielded a healing staff, and this she anxiously rubbed with her thumb.

Inigo approached his aunt. Though she wasn't his mother, she was the closest he and any of the orphaned children had when they were children. Over the years, her mind had deteriorated and she could no longer fulfill that role, but that didn't stop him, any of them, from loving her all the same.

He just wished that it didn't have to be this way, that there was some alternative option where he could save everyone and no one had to die for their sakes. But this was the real world, and sometimes, sacrifices must be made. It was for the greater good.

"...Inigo, hello," said Lissa quietly, her eyes glued to her son's retreating figure.

"Aunt Lissa," he responded, bowing. "We are almost ready to go." She nodded, and replied, "We are. Everything is prepared. Once Naga finishes the portal, you will all be free." The blue-haired youth saw the tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and placed a hand around her shoulder in comfort. He dropped his hand after a short while and watched the Divine Dragon perform the ritual.

Around the room, the bulk of Ylisse's armed forces stood bathed in the sea green light of dragon magic. Naga's eyes were closed in concentration as she ran her hands along the shield, chanting ancient prayers and incantations.

"I'm going to miss you. We all will," he said. To this, the princess waved her arm dismissively and smiled cheerfully. "Dont. I'll still be there, you know. Just… younger. Happier. Better. You'll have everyone there."

Inigo shook his profusely. "We'll miss _you_. Thank you for everything you have done for us." She blushed, then said no more.

Lissa broke the silence first. "Inigo. It shames me, but I must request one last favor of you. " He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Please, it has to be you, I couldn't ask it of Owain. He… I can't have him worry for me anymore and this burden will weigh him down. I'm sorry."

He looked at her briefly, before responding, "Don't be. Whatever you ask, it is my duty as the leader of the Future Children. I will do whatever I can to carry it through."

"Promise me one thing," she murmured. Inigo nodded silently, and the last living Shepherd took a deep breath. "When you are all safely in the past... " Protect Owain with his life? Make sure nothing happens to her son? The possibilities ran through his mind. Though a talented warrior, Owain tended to be more of a danger to himself than his enemies with his theatrics.

She glanced around to make sure no one else was watching, before she very quietly whispered two words.

" _Kill Robin._ "

Robin. The one whose name Lissa screamed the most in her grief-induced fits. The one whose apparition only Lissa could supposedly see. The one who brought the most smiles to the broken princess' face.

Inigo had no idea what this Robin looked like, but seeing what happened to his aunt because of Robin… this person must have been a pretty significant cause of her condition, and that was enough for him. Despite not knowing the reason for why Robin was so important, Inigo's resolve hardened and he acquiesced to her askance.

Lissa smiled at him and patted his arm. "Thank you. I'm counting on you, my nephew. Do whatever it takes."

"Whatever it takes," he echoed.

Then she reestablished the distance between them, never looking back as she left to rejoin the other healers. The last he ever saw of the blonde princess was her retreating back. The air seemed to drop a few degrees. In the burning capitol, the young prince felt cold.

Naga had finished her ritual. The room was humming with energy and anticipation. From far away, the sounds of approaching grunts and clanks of armor alerted the Ylisseans that the Risen were approaching.

"Prepare yourselves!" a gruff voice yelled. The remaining fighters thundered their approval and raised their arms and weapons.

Here in the ballroom, they would have their last dance. Soon their shouts would be screams.

Inigo split from the crowd and rejoined the other future children, searching each and every one of their faces for something that would give him a reason to stay. A reason to remain in this hellish world and aid their friends and allies. A reason to not _abandon_ the people he loved.

He only saw determination, and felt the gentle squeeze of a hand.

Naga drifted in front of them, her luminous form flickering ominously. "The… portal is… ready," she murmured. "But… it came at a great... cost of my powers… Children… you must go…" She weakly gestured towards the magic portal, but everyone caught the urgency of the situation.

"Is everyone accounted for?" he asked. Severa nodded her head towards his right.

"I'm here," called out Brady. He looked a bit worse for wear, but that was probably because he was never very athletic. In his hands he clutched a dark sack that was bulging with medical supplies. A dark look clouded the healer's face when he looked at it, but it soon passed.

"You were gone for so long. What kept you?" Kjelle questioned. Brady merely shook his head. "I'll tell you later. We have to go. _Now_." The others voiced their agreement. Time was of the essence.

Laurent made to enter the portal first, but something made Inigo hold out an arm. Intuition? Instinct? The prince had a feeling that letting Laurent go first would be a bad, bad idea.

The dark-robed mage raised an eyebrow at him and pushed up his glasses. Inigo shook his head. "I'll go first," he volunteered. "Make sure it's safe and all." The prince patted the sheathed Parallel Falchion and offered a crooked grin before stepping in.

 _Just think about the girls. The past should have scores of pretty lasses,_ Inigo joked privately, trying to relieve the nervousness.

Then the magic swallowed him whole, and the other Children followed, and the ballroom fell to madness.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N This little writing is turning into a sort of diary. Second and last chapter update for tonight. I don't know when I'll next update, and I've decided not to make any more promises. They always get broken anyways… I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

The children's departure only signalled the beginning of the fight. With the portal open to the alternate timeline, there was a chance for Grima to be stopped before he became a real threat. Before he ruined _everything_.

The people who stayed back had one task: at all costs, defend the portal. One slip-up could cost them all of their efforts. It would only take one agent of Grima to pass through, and the Fell Dragon could be reawakened and the future would repeat itself.

Lissa tried her best. She did, she did, she really did. But no matter how often she casted her healing magic, the Risen's numbers overwhelmed the guards. Injury after injury, the sages were just too spread out. One by one the healers were taken out. The remaining Ylisseans dropped like flies. She felt useless.

 _Fifty-six fighters for Ylisse on their feet, fifty-six fighters for Ylisse… Take one down, corpses abound, they bleed and they bleed till the blood runs out._

So she stopped.

She discarded the healing staves and picked up a fallen comrade's fire tome. Lissa scanned the runes inscribed-Arcfire, and she surveyed the great hallway before unleashing the devastating magic. If everyone died in this defense, it would be worth it so long as none of Grima's forces made it to the other realm.

The dark hallway was lit up solely through moonlight. With her fire magic, it resembled a hell on earth. Allies and foes alike fell in droves after that, and with each loss on her side, the _good_ side, Lissa became more and more numb. She ran on adrenaline alone and persevered through any wounds she sustained.

 _Die, die, die, die, all of you, die._

Lissa remembered a night, so long ago, when the world was sane, Grima was a mere shadow, and everyone she loved was _alive_. That one night, the three of them and _him_ were traveling to Ylisse when the first Risen attack had happened. She allowed herself a rueful smile at the memory. She had been _so_ scared, _so weak_ , and _unable_ to do anything but cower from the monsters and shoot a healing spell from the sidelines.

Now was her atonement for being weak. The blonde woman chanted the incantation for Arcfire, the flames licking her bloodied and cut fingertips. She spun and shot the spell towards a Risen axewielder.

The axewielder faltered from the force of the spell, but quickly recovered and lumbered towards the mage. The portal behind her illuminated the cadaver's expressionless face in a sea of greens and blues.

It looked just like the portal that the Risen and a lost princess fell through so long ago, a portal in the sky. The lost princess had appeared by her side then, and fought off the threat. Lissa felt the sting of tears and hurriedly blinked them away. _Not here, not now_ , she worried. _I have to keep myself in control, just a little longer! For the children!_

Because in this world, the Ylissean princess could not afford to play the damsel in distress any longer. In this world, there was no happy ending, and there was no mercy. Blue hair and a blue butterfly mask ripped at her memory, and Lissa could feel the lines between reality and fantasy blurring once more. Defiance coursed through her veins.

"No!" Lissa yelled. She blasted another potent Arcfire at the Risen. The monstrosity was engulfed in fire and flame, the smell of cooking flesh filling the air before the cadaver turned to smoke. When it disappeared, she was left with the sound of silence. She was alone. Bodies littered the great hallway. All brave men and women, all dead from fighting for a future they would never partake in.

Just.

Like.

Her.

 _Just like me._ Lissa dropped her magic tome and sank to her knees, adrenaline fading and injuries demanding her attention.

Idly, the blonde wondered if there was a even point to downing a healing potion.

She could see the cool swirls of light in the room grow dimmer and dimmer. The portal was closing, ever so slowly. Once it was gone, that was it. It was up to the children to prevent this hellish future. _But I guess I can't really call them children anymore_ , Lissa snorted girlishly, recalling how her son became slightly more theatrical around a certain pegasus knight. Or how two leaders would sneak glances at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking.

But they were gone without her, and Lissa's heart felt a strong sense of longing.

There was nothing now, no Risen, no children, and no Chrom, and no Emm, and no _Owain_ , and no _Frederick_ … Lissa dug her nails into her palms to stop the line of thinking before it took over. She promised Owain. Already she felt the familiar sensation of breaking skin. It was pain that let her know that was still alive, and that she mattered. Lissa glared at her ruined hands for a moment, hating the way they looked without her gloves. Her head was starting to feel a little light. She immediately stopped and clutched her head, trying to control her breathing and focus on the pale blue light the portal gave off. The only sound was her shallow breathing and… little thuds.

Wait. Thuds? Footsteps?

They sounded offbeat, like the sound of a Risen shuffling, but the movements were too precise to completely resemble the characteristic.

The princess slowly raised her head, haphazardly brushing aside some blonde strands. She squinted. In the dim lighting, she could make out a dark shape making its way towards her. _Another one?_ she thought, surprised. Then her expression hardened. _I must protect the children. I must protect my son._

On the last reserves of her strength and concentration, Lissa shuffled towards her fallen tome. Her hands shakily found the worn spine, and she clutched it to her chest. She turned… and the dark shape, no, the woman, was standing before her.

She stifled a shriek, and scrambled an inch or two away, ignoring how the rubble dug into the cuts on her hands. But the woman made no move towards her and said nothing, only stared at the portal in awe and confusion. _Not another Risen,_ breathed Lissa in relief.

The stranger wore a typical Ylissean guard uniform under a heavy black cloak. The hood was pulled up so that Lissa could only see the bottom half of the stranger's face, but what she saw made every muscle in her body tense. The navy locks that fell to her shoulders. The way the jaw clenched as if in deep concentration, the petite nose that wrinkled with unexpected laughter in her dreams…

The familiarity of the mysterious woman hit her and the princess' eyes became unfocused. _Was it really?.. Am I dreaming again?_

The stranger turned to Lissa and in at point, Lissa could see the other's face in its entirety. Suspicions confirmed, she decided she didn't care if _she_ was a friend or foe, reality or fantasy. She was just happy to see.

Lissa ignored the way that blood was splattered across the woman's chest, or how the woman gripped her sword with such _determination_ and _sinister intent_ and _in her direction._

Lissa cracked a smile, then a laugh, then her mind.

* * *

The blue-haired swordswoman stared at the sage who was now laughing hysterically on the floor.

The sage clutched her sides and cackled maniacally for a few seconds more before abruptly pointing a finger towards Adriane. Her yellow dress came away red wherever her hands touched.

"You!" the blonde exclaimed breathily. "I haven't seen _you_ in a while!" More giggles. This woman was really becoming insufferable, and Adriane would have already killed her if it wasn't for that last line.

Adriane gave the woman on the floor a perturbed look, asking, "You must be confusing me for someone else, madame. This is our first meeting." Perhaps she may be worth something before she dies.

But the sage pouted and shook her head. "No, dummy! It's me, Lissa, don't you remember? We were _best_ friends a long time ago!" The woman, Lissa stretched her arms wide open for a hug, but dropped them dejectedly after she saw the annoyed expression on Adriane's face.

"You used to visit all of the time after you collapsed, but you always looked really sad… come to think of it, Robin was really sad too. Not his usual sad though. Like, really, really depressed!" Lissa's face lit up, though her eyes still retained that blank look, as if she wasn't completely there. "But here's a thought! Let's try talking to him again! He might be able to see you this time!"

Lissa crawled forward and tugged on Adriane's fingers. The commander jerked her hand away and Lissa fell face down into the floor. The sage didn't move from her fall, but her voice lost none of its cheeriness when she proclaimed, "Maybe the two of you can talk again and be happy together!"

 _Robin. That name… why did it sound so… familiar?_ Adriane felt a tugging at her heart and look confusedly at the woman in her pathetic position. _And why does this woman insist on knowing me so much?_ _She must be crazy. Most likely she doesn't know anything, but I have to try everything I can to aid Master Grima before it is too late._ She felt a rising panic as she scanned the room. _The "Fire Emblem" has to be here somewhere… I don't have much time._

Desperately, Adriane played along with the woman's delusions. She nodded at Lissa, saying, "yes, that does sound wonderful, _but_ -" the hope that filled Lissa's eyes flickered, and Adriane derived some pleasure out of the _dirty parent killer's_ misery "-how are we to get past the Fell Dragon? Isn't there a plan to get rid of Grima so I can reunite with… Robin? The Fire Emblem, was it called?"

Lissa's expression darkened for a moment, and her brows furrowed. She looked as if she was struggling to remember something lost long ago. Then her cheery disposition came back, albeit a little strained.

"Oh, that old thing?" she chirped, wringing her hands nervously. She seemed to be at war with herself for a brief moment. "You don't have to worry about Grima anymore, Lu, we've already used the Fire Emblem! The others have already gone back to fix this. To fix everything! You don't have to worry so much anymore."

Adriane froze. Already… working? Was she too late? _Was Grima already dead?_ She couldn't keep the panic out of her voice as she demanded, "what do you mean? _Where are they?_ "

Then Lissa looked terrified, and she flung herself around the commander's boot. "No! No, you can't go! Just stay here with me, I promise, you can see Robin again, just don't… don't go back into the portal with them! If you go, you might fall down again, and it'll be my fault, my fault, and everyone will _die_ and I'll be all _by myself_ and-" Adriane looked at the sobbing woman at her feet with disgust. before kicking her face away.

The sage fell in a crumpled heap with a thud and didn't get up. She continued to babble nonsensical nothings, and Adriane turned her attention to the portal. Its sea green magic flickered invitingly, urging her to step forward. She did, and the light's intensity flared in response.

If Grima's cause of destruction lay past this portal, Adriane saw it as her duty, no, her pleasure, to follow through.

She tightened her belongings about her person and prepared herself for whatever could lie ahead. With her disguise, Adriane figured she could fool any of the Ylisseans or their allies. And, if worst came to worst, well… she gripped her sword.

Speaking of her sword, she considered what to do with the fallen sage. Her jaw tightened and she ultimately decided to spare the wretch. For now, Adriane would leave her alone. Crazed as she was, Lissa was not able to pose as a threat, and killing her would be more effort than it was worth.

 _Yeah, keep telling yourself that,_ a little voice in the back of her head commented snidely. _You had no problems abusing her earlier, but when given the chance to eliminate a threat once and for all, you back out with your tail between your legs. Look at her. She's terrified of a life lived alone-this would be a mercy killing. You're a coward. You're not fit to serve Grima. Admit it, you abandoned your_ duty _not out of a sense of loyalty, but because you were too_ afraid _to repeat your ac-_

 _Shut up,_ Adriane growled internally. The voice disappeared, but Adriane could still hear its echoes of judgment.

However, now was not the time to dwell on such thoughts. The portal awaited her. She moved closer until she was right next to the magic. Adriane lifted a hand and sunk it in the portal experimentally.

Nothing, no pain. It was safe.

From behind her, she could hear Lissa calling out softly, "Please..." In the distance, she could hear the clanking of metal approaching. She ignored both sounds. Enemies or allies, it did not matter. Adriane would be long gone.

"...don't go…"

She passed through the barrier.

"...Luci-"


	14. Chapter 14

A/N So this is standard. Kind of decent. Sorry for not updating regularly-this entire thing is completely fueled by emotion. Chapters don't come out until I feel like writing and feel that it's acceptable enough to be posted. A big part of why I write this stuff is because I don't want to end up like a playback, mindlessly copying down from the original game to make crappy stories. If I'm going to write trash, it's going to be damn acceptable trash. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

He was lying on the bank of the river, screaming.

 _Chrom… Chrom, where was Chrom? He couldn't find him, no matter how hard he tried..._

 _There was blood, so much blood. It was everywhere, on his face, in his hair, in his clothes. His hands were stained, yet he could hear a faint laughter, a manic cackling that ensnared him in its madness. WHERE WAS HE OH NAGA HELP HE WAS COMING CLOSER, YET CLOSER-_

And then suddenly it was all gone.

Underneath he could feel the moist earth, at his head he could hear the soft gurgling of water, and at his feet he felt the coarse brush of grass, still laden with morning dew.

A calming atmosphere, yet he could feel his breathing coming heavily and his pulse racing. There was a coolness on his neck, behind his ears, his forehead that came from heavy sweating.

 _What… where am I? Why do I feel so… uneasy..._

His eyes shot open, and was met with the sight of deep, verdant green stalks with brown cylinders on the end that resembled a feline's tail. _Oh. A water sausage,_ he realized, calming down slightly. He felt his breathing slowly steady at the inconsequential fact, the cool air passing through his sore throat.

And though he knew that he should probably get up soon, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of relaxation and peace. This was nice. Really nice. There were only the sounds of nature and feeling a kinship to the land. Almost nothing could shatter the moment. His tired eyelids fluttered shut.

He was soon corrected.

"Over here! I thought I heard something next to the river!" called out a high, girlish voice. There was a noisy rustling as the voice came closer. "...or someone. Oh. Oh no."

"Milady, please do not diverge from the group. I cannot fulfill my duty and protect you if you continuously insist upon running away." The speaker was definitely male, judging from the voice's deep tones. He sounded exasperated with the girl's behavior.

"What did you find, Lissa?" a third, curious voice asked. More rustling of grass.

"You're encouraging her, milord," said the second. Yes. Definitely exasperation. The man on the ground guiltily felt some mirth at the other's expense.

"I… I think I found a body," she answered nervously. The man could almost see her wringing her hands in habit, but he kept certainty at bay with eyes clamped shut. "That's terrible." The third voice. "Lissa, stay close to us. If he was slain by attackers, they may be lingering."

"Allow me, milord," said the second speaker. There was a clanking of metal then, and it increased in volume until it stopped at his head. The man could feel the distance between the second speaker and himself shrinking and decided that there really was no getting around this awkward situation.

He opened his eyes abruptly. "Hey," he said, smiling sheepishly. He came face to face with a strong jaw and dark brown eyes. The stern mouth of the second speaker twitched with surprise and then annoyance. "Well. He is alive." The lady behind him was more expressive, letting out a loud shriek.

The man on the ground tilted his head to see navy blue hair, kind eyes, and an exposed shoulder. There was a strange symbol coming from that arm, and it tugged at his memory, as if he should know its meaning.

The marked man maneuvered himself around the heavily-armored brunette. It was this arm that the other man offered to the previously-sleeping human. "Here give me your hand. There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know," the marked man chuckled.

He took the help. When their hands met, the man on the ground looked up, startled at the familiarity. If the navy-haired man felt similarly, he gave no outward sign.

The man on the ground had the strangest feeling. This felt so familiar. Was it apprehension? Relief? He couldn't tell.

He felt the need to clarify. "I, um… I'm sorry for the misunderstanding. I'm not really dead, as you all can see, and there isn't anyone lying in wait. I just… had a bad dream…" he trailed off. Come to think of it, he couldn't quite recall what he was dreaming about before his awakening. Or anything, really.

"It was never meant to be a jest, which in the context of what just happened, seemed to be in bad taste anyways. I'm very sorry, my lady," he ended formally, albeit a bit awkwardly. He suspected talking wasn't really his strong suit. His eyes never left the third speaker, but he could see the the third man rummaging through a bag behind her. "That's quite unfortunate concerning your dream, but at least we know there wasn't any _real_ danger. Anyways," the blue-haired man interrupted, "we found this lying close by. Is this yours?"

He held up a dark cloak. It was embroidered and lined in gold, and along its edges were cryptic purple symbols in the shapes of eyes, just like the ones on his hand. At its head was a large hood.

 _It's yours._

He nodded. "Yes, it is. Thank you, Chrom," he heard himself say. He took the coat gratefully and slipped it over his shoulders. It took him a second to register the three confused looks directed at him.

"You dare to address Ylissean royalty in so casual a manner?" the brown-haired man growled. Chrom held up a hand in his direction. "Frederick, it is quite all right. You know I was never much for titles in the first place." He turned to Robin. "Still, I find it a little unfair that you know my name while I know nothing about you. What is your name?"

 _Robin, your name is Robin_ , said the little voice in his mind. It offered nothing else.

"...it's Robin," he finally responded. "I… I don't know much else about myself, so I guess we're pretty even here, Chrom. I can't seem to remember anything about you either, only that your name is Chrom. What's Ylisse?"

Why couldn't he remember anything, anything at all? He wracked his head for a reason, but still came up blank. Was it amnesia? His head felt fine, so it couldn't have been blunt force trauma, but there was no other explanation for the mysterious loss of memory, or the selective knowledge, such as Chrom's name.

Frederick grunted. "Milord, I like this man less and less. To forget the very country he lives in, whilst remembering only your name and his… he's obviously lying. He could be a Plegian spy-Naga knows Plegia has been causing all sorts of trouble recently."

"If he's spying, he's doing a really poor job of it. He's already forgotten the location of his assignment!" piped in the blonde. "I think he's fine, Frederick." She giggled and gave Robin a not-so-subtle thumbs up. He gave her a lopsided grin back, and was dimly aware of Frederick's glare.

"He is playing the fool!" Frederick interjected angrily. He moved protectively in front of the petite blonde. Chrom then stepped between the knight and Robin and placed a hand on Robin's shoulder.

"You see a spy, Frederick, but I see a man who is lost and needs help in this world. Perhaps we can take him with us, just until he finds his way." Ylisse's prince made eye contact with Robin. "You're not secretly working for Plegia against us, are you, Robin?" he asked semi-seriously.

Robin looked at him with confusion. _He doesn't give a damn if I'm out to kill him, so long as I'm helpless like this. Is he always this trusting?_ he thought. Still, he shook his head. "What's Plegia?" he asked, both amused at the repeated question and frustrated at his own lack of information.

The prince searched Robin's face intently, before apparently finding what he was looking for. "You really don't remember anything… Well, there'll be time to answer your questions later. It's settled. You're coming with us!" announced Chrom triumphantly. "Yay!" cheered Lissa, pumping her fist in the air. Frederick only narrowed his eyes at the newcomer. _I'm watching you,_ his brown eyes said.

It was with a purposeful glance that he responded with, _yes. Please do._ Robin could respect that, considering the man's job and affection for the . And thinking back on his time before the three's arrival… suffice it to say that the possibility of a malicious past wasn't ruled out.

"Robin! Are you going to walk anytime soon?" called Lissa. She had already pushed aside the tall grass in their exit. They all stopped to look at him.

He nodded reassuringly. "Yes, just give me a moment to wash up. Sleeping in the mud hasn't exactly done wonders to my complexion," he said, gesturing to the mud that caked the back of his head and neck.

"Oh, that makes sense!" replied Lissa brightly. "Go, go everyone!" she said, making a shooing motion at her brother and his friend. "We'll wait up ahead for you, Robin!"

"Thank you."

Once they were out of sight, Robin let out a long sigh. Truth be told, he was having mixed feelings about the whole situation and needed a little time to himself.

He walked over the river and gently kneeled away from the mud. He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows to reveal pale, somewhat thin arms. Cupping his hands, Robin brought water to his head. Freshwater and mud alike ran down his neck in rivulets, and he closed his eyes at the cooling sensation. With one last cupful, he splashed off the remaining dirt on his face.

When he reopened them, he saw his reflection.

His hair was a snowy color, bordering on blonde. His eyes were an unremarkable brown, until the sun hit them just right and he saw hints of green and black. His nose and mouth were average-sized, and his skin matched his arms. Pale, as if he spent the majority of his time indoors. His cheeks looked a little thin. _I must not eat very well,_ he thought critically.

Overall, Robin looked like an average, run-of-the-mill guy. Nothing about him screamed danger, or posed a threat to anyone.

Relief. _Good_ , he thought. _That's all I can ask for, at least, for these kind people._

Feeling refreshed and a bit more confident in himself, he put his best face on and rejoined the others.

* * *

 _You're… different… this time… more… open._

Leave him alone.

 _We don't have a choice._


	15. Chapter 15

A/N So um… this is cool. I've already gotten a quarter of next chapter written too, so that's… cool as well. I'm actually pretty excited because I have no idea how this will turn out. The plot just reveals itself under the right moods and right circumstances when writing. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

"So… where are we anyways?" Robin asked casually. He was strolling along a dirt-trodden path with Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick. The blonde healer hummed thoughtfully in response before nodding her head to her older brother. The knight threw him suspicious glances every other five seconds, but the white-haired man did his best to ignore it.

The prince in question replied, "We're a little ways off from Southtown, in the southern region of Ylisse. Ylisse is a country by the way, one that my older sister, Emmeryn, rules over as the standing Exalt."

"Ah," said Robin. He idly observed some pebbles lying on the ground on the side of the road, noting how they all seemed to be stacked up in little, separate piles. The road itself was surprisingly pebble-free. Another question struck him. "Another question. If you and your sisters are all royalty, why is it that you and Lissa are down here with only a single guard?"

Next to him, Frederick crossed his arms. "Milord… he's fulfilling his spy duties as we speak…" he grumbled, looking ruefully at the ground.

Chrom shook his head, an amused expression on his face. "It's quite all right, friend. If he's to travel with us, he deserves to know what we're doing," chastised the prince. He turned back to the newcomer. "We're shepherds."

"Telling me you tend sheep doesn't exactly fix my confusion," Robin deadpanned jokingly.

"We don't tend sheep. We tend people, in a sense. Frederick, Lissa, and I, we travel around the country resolving conflicts and helping anyone who requires aid. After all, it is the duty of a ruler…"

"...to take care of the country's citizens, make sure everyone is safe," finished Robin, the words coming to him out of seemingly nowhere. He blushed lightly and put a hand behind his neck. "Sorry, didn't mean to cut in like that."

A smile had grown on Chrom's face as he spoke, putting his passion for the work on display. "No, that was exactly what I was about to say," he said with a grin.

Then the curves of his mouth morphed into a frown. "Lately however, we have been receiving reports at Ylisstol about attacks along our borders. These assaults have occurred on our western front-the border we share with Plegia-but there have been complaints of raids in the southern regions as well," Chrom continued. "It's terrible. The citizens are in a growing panic as their homes and lives are uprooted by strangers. They scatter and lose their way like sheep amongst wolves."

"Still, I hope these allegations are false. Up until now the perpetrators of these attacks were common bandits preying on the weak, but the occurrences have been too frequent to dismiss as the mechanisms of a smaller force. I hope for the people's sake that Plegia isn't trying to start another war with us after such a hard-won peace between our nations."

After Chrom had finished explaining, the remaining three had grown silent in contemplation. "Do you understand, Robin?" asked the prince softly. So he was one of the "sheep" that Chrom personally took responsibility for. Something inside of him protested in indignation, but the cloaked man quickly tamped it down under layers of gratitude.

"Yes, I believe I do. Thank you," Robin replied.

Lissa yawned, coughed a little, then stretched her arms behind her back. From Robin's position behind her, it looked as if she was reaching for the sky. "This is taking forever and my feet hurt! Are we almost there, Frederick?" she exclaimed tiredly, traipsing along the path.

Frederick never reached for the map in the bag he carried. "Almost, milady. We are but four miles away from Southtown to restock supplies." With a metal gloved hand, he carefully brushed off the sweat that had accumulated on his brow.

"Ughhhh," she moaned, and slouched over. "I can't last that long! My legs are going to break!" Chrom gave his little sister a partly-reproachful, partly-entertained look. Frederick though, turned to her seriously and asked, "would it help milady if I were to carry her?"

The other two men were too tall to see Lissa's face, but Robin was closer to the girl and closer to the ground, allowing him to see the full extent of her blush. "Y-yeah… that'll be okay I think," Lissa muttered.

She didn't face anyone as the knight hoisted her unceremoniously on his back, hands under her knees to hold her in place. Her dress hiked up scandalously-high to accommodate the position, but Lissa showed no concern over it. She didn't seem the type of girl to be very lady-like to Robin.

"I apologize for any lack of comfort. It will not last long. Once we walk past that tall hill over there-" he gestured his head towards the steep slope of the land, unfazed by the girl riding him "-Southtown will be within viewing distance. It's really not too far."

"I just wanna lie down and sleep," grumbled Lissa. She was already drowsy on the armored man's back-she had probably done this before.

There was a few moments of silence as they all began their uphill ascent before Robin said, "I'm afraid you're not going to want to be asleep for a while, Lissa. Look." He pointed. Even from far away, Robin could already-very faintly-taste a dry harshness on his tongue, and now he knew its cause.

In the distance, a blazing fire had taken over a huddle of buildings. From the fires stemmed a thick, dark miasma of blacks and greys. The smoke plumes corrupted the once-pristine blue of the sky and the air.

 _ **Beautiful, is it not? Let it burn. It'll save you a lot of… trouble in the future.**_

He turned, aghast. "Chrom, do you really mean that?" he demanded. His fists were clenched at the prince's sudden change in tone. Was this man really so two-faced?

But Chrom shared his expression of disbelief. "What? I didn't say anything," he said, confused.

The prince then gave him a dismissive glance before turning his attention again to the burning chaos. "Everyone! Hurry! There are people there who need help!" He sprinted towards the fires with Frederick and Lissa in hot pursuit.

 _But... I was so sure you did,_ Robin thought. Confused, he ran after them.

* * *

When they arrived, they took in the full blast of the destruction. Hungry flames licked at the wooden structures and scorched the stone. Filthy, ragged bandits were pillaging the town, their stolen loot slung over their backs. Everywhere was the cacophony of the villagers' yells.

"Agh!"

"Someone, anyone, help!"

"Dad? Dad, where are you?!"

"Let go!"

Lissa gripped her healing staff. "Chrom!" she cried, seeing the scattered wounded. "I have to go help them!"

Her brother nodded quickly, desperately. "Right. Lissa, go and heal anyone you can and tell them to retreat to this spot. Frederick. You and I will pair up and dispatch the criminals. If possible, we should spare their lives to glean some information on the attack."

"Yes, milord," the knight saluted sharply.

But Robin's eyes and focus had sharpened since entering the scene. The white-haired man had observed the crude, but effective axes the bandits held. He saw their dexterity in combat and in running. He recognized the malicious gleam in their eyes as they attacked the villagers indiscriminately, sparing no women or children. His breath caught in his throat.

So when the determined princess stepped forward eagerly, Robin shot out a cloaked arm and rasped, " _no."_

They turned to him with wide eyes. "Chrom," he spoke lowly. "You trust me, yes? Enough to accompany your group? Believe me when I tell you that sending Lissa out is not a good idea."

"Robin, what are you saying? You don't think we should help those people because our lives will be in danger?" Chrom asked.

The white-haired man shook his head. "I can… see things about these people, this area too, that I feel you can't. There are too many enemy units for you and Frederick to handle quickly and efficiently. At least, not without Lissa getting focus fired and killed because she's alone. She needs someone to protect her." _Her lack of armor doesn't help her. She's very vulnerable._

He eyed Chrom's armor and noted the beating sun and scorching flame. _He'll be slow, soon too. Another disadvantage._ _He must be paired up._

The knight was the only one who looked capable of fending for himself, if only due to extensive training. _Frederick's not even breaking a sweat in that armor, even after all that running and the heat emitting from the fires._ He paused. _Well, he is their protector… he must be more battle-ready than Chrom and Lissa combined_. Frederick was looking at him with a mixture of respect and reluctance. Robin wondered why…

"So what do you propose?" he inquired gruffly. The siblings followed suit and looked towards the cloaked man with the same expectancy.

Robin craned his head once more at their future foes, confirming his information. He then faced them.

"I've got it. Frederick, you're our strongest fighter, but it's because of that that I'm sticking you with Lissa. She can't exactly fight, and you have to focus not only on shielding her from harm, but taking care of the enemies," he stated authoritatively.

"Lissa, you are to do as Chrom commanded, but please, be careful. Let Frederick take the lead as you heal." She took this in and positioned herself behind the chestnut-haired soldier. His words flowed naturally, the knowledge of unknown skills being put to use.

"Chrom, you're with me. The bandits have a sort of home advantage, as they are more familiar with the layout of the town. They are also faster than we are. Still, fighting as a team, I believe that we'll have an edge over these bandits-mostly because we would be more organized compared to their greed-fueled chaos," he finished to stunned silence.

The commanding aura fell away as he realized something. "Erm, if you want to fight with me, Chrom. I mean, I don't really know if I'll be much help-I might just get in your way-but I can probably lend a hand or two strategy-wise…" Robin muttered, uncertainty creeping back into his voice.

"Robin, I would be happy to have you on my side. As for weapons… Frederick?"

The knight quickly rummaged in the bag and pulled out a bronze sword and a worn fire tome. "This should suffice," he said, placing the weapons in Robin's hands. The look he gave Robin was not unkind.

 _ **Use the tome… the… fire tome...**_

That voice again. It made chills run down the tactician's back in its emotionless tone, but Robin felt compelled to listen.

With the magic book in his hand, Robin felt a flow of power rush through him. He could sense a great reserve of magic inside, ready to be channeled into physical manifestation. The sword felt awkward in his other hand, so he gingerly resheathed it and tied it on a belt around his waist. _Good advice, for once._

"Is everyone ready?" called out Chrom. He already had one hand on the sword hilt, so ready was he to jump into the melee. Lissa bounced eagerly behind Frederick, who only nodded. Still, there was one thing that Robin had to take care of, something he was forgetting...

 _Tome… sword… axes…_ _ah._

He reached out an arm towards the departing knight and lady. "Frederick, wait! Your lance! Remember against these bandits it's better to-"

"-use swords. Yes, thank you, Robin," he cut in, his surprise veiled with sarcasm.

Robin grinned, then bounded off after Chrom.

"Careful, Robin. Continue as you are and my friend might actually _like_ you," teased the navy-haired prince as they neared the town. "That's what I'm counting on," shot back the tactician playfully, who then adopted a serious expression at what he saw.

From their distance, they could see a bandit lugging a grossly-stuffed sack of goods behind him. Upon noticing their arrival, the crimson-splattered raider abandoned his prize and produced a crude axe from his belt. The blade still dripped with blood. Chrom met the threat with a long, gleaming sword, unlike any that Robin had ever witnessed-not that he could remember seeing many. It hummed with an intense, subtle power that surged beneath the surface.

Robin's eyes lingered questioningly on the blade for a second, but only so, before the bandit charged at them.

"Chrom!" he yelled, flipping open the fire tome to an unused runic page. He began chanting the inscribed phrases, the archaic runes morphing themselves into understandability.

"On my mark!" he shouted, as he ran to face the bandit head on.

A small fire bloomed in Robin's hand as he prepared to fight alongside his friend.

They took no prisoners, though it wasn't for lack of trying. The nature of Chrom's weapon and Robin's magic forbade the two from sparing their foes without bringing serious threat upon themselves. It was killed or be killed.

History repeats itself.

* * *

A/N Man, fight scenes get so stale. I'd rather just focus on the tactics and drama side of fighting, and Robin's character is more than happy to oblige. Also, thanks for the input everyone. Cracked me up on more than one occasion.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N 16, you were annoying in your arrival. But finally, finally, you came out like I wanted you to, plot-wise. Sure you're a little dry and plot-progressing, but… maybe that's okay. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

Only the storehouses and the surrounding areas were targeted by the bandits in the small timeframe that the town was raided. As a result, the damages were concentrated. The northern and inner portions of Southtown remained virtually untouched, much to the group's relief. It was in the standing doctor's building that Lissa took care of the injured.

The three men promised her a seat at dinner later at the local tavern-inn and left her to her work.

* * *

"I'm… very sorry, sirs, but… the bandits made off with much of our livestock… I'm afraid there's not much we can offer on… the… first page," said the waitress shyly. She held a small notepad in front of her face like a shield and subconsciously tucked a strand of pink hair behind an ear.

"That's perfectly all right," responded Chrom kindly. "Now, a plate of fish for my sister, and as for me, I'll have a plate of whatever meat is available, please."

"I'll… have whatever he's getting. Please."

"...just bread and water, please. No meat."

Chrom added, "Really, don't stress yourself and the other workers."

Relief flooded her features at his words. "Thank you. Certainly. I'll be back with your orders." The waitress gave them a pretty smile, collected the menus, and walked away. There was a certain... grace in her steps that lent a subtle sway in her hips. Chrom's navy eyes followed the motion a little too closely for a little too long and Robin smirked.

"See something you like?" he joked cheekily. Chrom's cheeks pinked. "No. She just… um, had something on her butt," he defended unconvincingly.

"Riiiiight."

"It's not like that! I just think she's sweet-I mean, needs to be more… careful where… she sits…"

Frederick nodded knowingly. "Perfectly normal." A pause. "Milord, you do know you are of marrying age, and the nobles have been pestering you to settle down soon. Perhaps you should look into this matter given your current disposition?"

The blue-haired prince clenched a hand seriously. "The nobles want a lot of things from me, but right now, I see a greater good in the Shepherds' cause than marrying an empty, peacock daughter." He perked up as he quickly changed the subject.

"Robin, I never got to thank you for your aid earlier. Thanks to you, my sister is saved from my poor decision-making and the day is won. Granted, these are only little more than petty bandits, but I really do appreciate the effort," Chrom said, smiling.

The three were sitting around a square table at the tavern-inn, waiting to be served.

Frederick added, "Your methods were quite… efficient, I admit."

Robin blushed at the praise, unused to the commendations. "No, it was nothing really. It was probably a hobby of mine in the past, just staying inside all day and reading up."

Chrom was quick to object. "That's just it, though. Your tactics, strategy, even the way you fight-I see potential in you. You, with us."

"Milord, are you-?"

"How would you like to become a Shepherd?"

The din of the tavern faded away as Robin considered the possibility. Then he realized there was nothing to consider.

"I accept," he replied happily. With Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick, there was friendship, occupation, and a dream. The thought of spending his days traveling the country, meeting new people, and getting to implement more intricate strategies… it filled him with hope.

"Excellent! I was hoping you would say yes. The Shepherds have been in need of a tactician for quite some time, and you seemed perfect for the job," Chrom declared, looping an arm around Robin in a friendly gesture.

"Ah, Prince Chrom! What a delight to run into you here!" called out a lofty voice.

Chrom's arm tensed around Robin's shoulders before the prince released his new friend. "What a coincidence, Yost. The pleasure is all mine," he greeted formally. His tone was detached and little remained of the previous joviality Chrom had displayed earlier. Frederick adopted a new level of stoicness, staying completely silent, mouth thinned into a line.

It was a pudgy, slightly-stooped young man. The folds on his neck bragged a gluttonous lifestyle. He was blonde, and bedecked in jewels and silks that garishly showed off his wealth. In an eyesore of lime green and cherry red, Yost sauntered to the trio.

Robin already shared the other Shepherd's sentiments.

The nobleman bowed. "What business brings you here, Yost?" Chrom asked. The man in question sighed rolled his eyes.

"The usual family business, trading and such. Though, with the recent bandit attack, many of my company's goods have been lost. My trip up north for trade will be delayed and my father would be extremely disappointed in me," he sighed. Yost gave Chrom sideways glances as he spoke.

Sympathetic nods. Awkward silence. "In a town so closely related to the capitol, security has been _surprisingly lax_. Many of my father's assets have been lost," he added pointedly.

"That's very unfortunate," coughed Chrom. "Please, as… the crown had been lax in its duty of protecting its citizens, accept some compensation from the royal treasury." His tone was reluctant, but compliant. _Help me,_ Chrom's eyes signalled to Robin, who only widened his own.

 _You're on your own friend_.

An oily grin appeared on Yost's face as he clasped his hands delightedly. "Excellent, excellent, I say. Now, where were we before that unpleasant bit of business popped up?"

"Here are your orders, sirs," piped in a cheerful voice. The same pink-haired woman arrived, balancing the four dishes and several drinks on her arms on a large tray.

"Ah, thank you," said Chrom.

Identical, steaming dishes of meat appeared in front of Chrom and Robin. The gamey, juicy smell that emanated from the slices made Robin's mouth water and he eagerly forked the tender meat into his mouth. "Thish ish really good," he beamed at his companions, forgetting his manners.

From behind a plate of a warm loaf of bread, Frederick looked almost ready to hurl. Sweat had materialized on his brow and he looked feverish. "I'll take your word for it, Robin," he muttered.

The woman held up the plated mackerel, unsure of where to place it. "This was... for your sister..?" she asked Chrom, pointing at the fish.

Before Chrom could respond, Yost took the opportunity to open his mouth and say, "Oh, I'm just keeping her seat warm. Just set it right here, nice and easy. No need to trouble yourself and move from there." He not-so-subtly winked at the waitress and Robin could see her quietly shudder, but comply to her customer's wishes.

At the angle she was at, the poor waitress had no choice but to practically bend over the table to reach. Her worker's uniform offered a view from where the nobleman sat, and by the look on Yost's face, it was nothing to scoff at. When she came back up, her cheeks were flushed with mortification.

"Tell me, what is your name?" prompted Yost as he rested his chin on a heavily-ringed hand.

She wouldn't meet any of the men's gazes as she stuttered, "O-Oli-Olivia, sir."

He leered over her from his spot and said, "Well, _Olivia_ , once I've finished keeping this chair warm, maybe you could swing by later and do a little warming yourself, hmm?"

Olivia shook her head, her eyes still trained to the ground. Her pink hair shuffled in the motion, causing the strands to fall from behind her ear and into her face. "Th-thank you, sir, b-but-"

Chrom pounded the table with his fist. Not loudly, but forcefully enough to silence the other man. "That's enough," he commanded. Yost looked as if he was about to protest, but decided to think better of it and shut his mouth. Chrom turned to the waitress. "Thank you for the meal, Olivia," he murmured.

She gave the group a quick bow before rushing off with the tray.

Robin had been discreetly following the whole exchange, and thus noticed when the nobleman's eyes never ceased to rove the waitress' body. Predatorily, lewdly, possessively.

The tactician glanced at Chrom, but the prince seemed intent on occupying himself with his plate. Frederick had found great interest in the floorboards.

"Well. I supposed I should retire for the night-big day tomorrow, what with the inspections and travel plans. I bid you farewell, noble Prince Chrom, and thank you again for your most generous gift. It will be put to good use," Yost said. He dazedly excused himself and exited the room.

Immediately the thick, congested atmosphere dissipated.

Robin felt a rush of air from behind.

"Thank Naga, I thought that insufferable prick would _never_ leave. I didn't want to join you all with _him_ around," complained Lissa. Having arrived from the healing building, the blonde princess plopped herself onto a creaky wooden chair with little finesse.

"Lissa-" Chrom started. "Milady-" Frederick tried. But she only gave them pointed looks. She reprimanded, "Don't try to defend him. You both know I'm right. _Did you see how he treated that girl?_ Maribelle would have his _head_."

Chrom slouched in his chair. "One of the reasons why she's not here. Anyways, lacking of charms he may be, but that still doesn't change the fact that his father is very influential in court. Emmeryn already has enough to worry about without us adding petty noble squabbles and manners into the mix," the blue-haired man sighed. "Take heart. With the extra financial aid for his business, we shouldn't be encountering Yost any time soon."

Lissa hummed in response. "True, true," she agreed. But privately, she briefly imagined the fish to be the man and savagely speared a few bites of salted fish.

Frederick cleared his throat. In a low voice, he said, "Milord, I must go prepare our supplies for tomorrow's trip back to Ylisstol. Despite the damages to this town's buildings, I spotted a few stores that should stock the materials we need."

Chrom met his knight's question. "Do as you must, Frederick. Robin, Lissa, and I will await your return here."

"Yes, milord."

Chrom sighed. "Frederick, I told you to just call me-"

"Actually, I'm done for now," Lissa cut in suddenly. The men gave her strange looks to which she stretched her arms and released a dramatic yawn. "It was a long day. I'm pooped. Good night, everyone!"

After a chorus of goodnight's and milord's, only Robin and Chrom remained of the original four.

"So," stated Chrom.

"...so," answered Robin. "What now?"

It was a little awkward. Both were strangers in this newly-minted friendship, having just barely scratched the surface of each other's personality. Still, nothing brings people closer together than one person saving another from a life lived alone and one person saving another from certain death on multiple occasions.

Robin was pretty sure this was normal amongst the Shepherds.

"Well, since you're a Shepherd now, and my new tactician, and our options are limited, I _guess_ this calls for one thing, and one thing only," Chrom said in a teasing tone.

"Drinking celebration?" Robin proposed eagerly. He sincerely hoped he wasn't a lightweight.

Chrom grinned.

"Drinking celebration."

* * *

One hour later found the two men bone-tired, completely smashed, and uncommonly candid.

Prince and tactician slouched over a bar drunkenly. Between the pair lay a haphazardly-stacked pyramid of empty bottles, cups, and glasses. Both men were tired and sore, but quite obviously content with their achievement.

Still, there was an important matter that needed to be resolved.

"He-heyyy Chrome. Gooooogle Chrome," slurred Robin, clutching a half-filled tankard. His head felt like such a heavy burden on his shoulders, so he rested it momentarily against the rough wood of the table.

From beside him, Chrom took a swig of his own drink before mimicking Robin's pose. "Yeeeeee?.." he 'asked.'

Robin shook his head. The action caused a few unruly white locks to cover his eyes. "Now that we're offish-ly… ya know… _friends_ … there's sumthin' I wanna tell ya. But it might be weird." He tried to see Chrom and meet his eyes, but his hair poked annoyingly at his vision, so he quit and jabbed out a finger at the prince.

"Naaaaaah, buddy, go on a-and shay it. A good… leader needshta lishen to hish people."

"Your… _hair_ ," Robin announced, missing completely and prodding Chrom's cheek, "it's just sho… It'sh sho _cool_." He waved his hands wildly. "Like… like the ocean and sky _combined_ to make shuch _really cool blue hair_! I don't think I can… remember others havin' sumthin' that _pretty_!"

Chrom tried to talk, but hiccuped instead. The action made his head bounce against the table. "Heyyyy, I wuzabout to tell ya the _same thing_. Like, it'sh alwaysh the girlsh that're talkin' bout hair, but guysh can too! I love yer hair, buddy. It's snowy! Like… snow!" He giggled and drew little circles on the table with his pointer finger.

Robin was filled with indignation and pride. "Yeah!" he yelled, punching a fist in the air. "And-and they're alwaysh shaying thingsh about marryin' and complimentsss… sho… I like yer hair sho much that if there wazza girl version of ya I'd probsh marry her jest for the hair!" Pure adrenaline coursed through the tactician's veins, and he couldn't contain the huge grin after his statement. "Well, maybe not," he added as an afterthought. "Ya gotta great pershonality too-really, really, really niiiiice!"

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" bellowed Chrom wordlessly as he vigorously nodded his head in agreement. His voice carried loudly over the din of the tavern. Robin took that to mean _hey, thanks a lot! I must admit, I too appreciate your personality. I feel as if we are the best of friends already and I look forward to our future collaborations as Shepherds._

The drunken pair leaned on each other in their camaraderie, guffawing uproariously and ignoring the annoyed glares the other bar patrons gave them.

A shadow fell over their heads. "Milord. Robin."

Frederick stood behind the two fools calmly. His back was laden with foodstuffs and other traveling supplies, leaving room for the knight to irritably cross his arms. The knight made the mistake of smelling their breaths and crinkled his nose at the scent of various alcoholic beverages.

"I think you've both had enough for tonight," he muttered. "Get up. We're retiring to your rooms."

"Amen to that!" yelled a random old woman to almost unanimous assent.

When the two failed to respond, Frederick carefully lifted Chrom and hoisted him over his right shoulder. He did the same to Robin and placed him on the left. Neither really protested, so far gone they were.

As he headed towards their rooms, the knight apologized on behalf of his charges. Thankfully, no one seemed to recognize their prince and his tactician.

Still, despite the nuisance they had caused in his absence, Frederick's cold demeanour softened as he thought of Chrom. The prince was always preoccupied with the going-ons of his people that he very rarely allowed himself some fun. It was good to see the stiff prince let loose, even if it was with Robin.

 _But maybe, just maybe,_ the protective knight thought, glancing at Robin's dozing face, _the new tactician wasn't so bad._

* * *

 _This was bad. This was so, so, so bad, oh no, oh-_

"Aaa-" Her scream was cut off by a grimy hand at her mouth and the pressure of a blade at her back. The tip pressed into her skin slightly, enough to push, but not enough to cut.

"If you value your life, you won't make a sound. Nod once for yes."

In the pitch blackness of the room, Olivia nodded once. There was a small chuckle from behind her, low, rumbling, and entirely too sinister.

"Good. Now walk."

* * *

A/N So yeah. I've always thought Olivia was really cute and had a great personality, sort of like Fluttershy from MLP. No, I am not a brony. Olivia's going to play an integral role in the upcoming chapters. Finally… one of my favorite characters is going to be important...


	17. Chapter 17

A/N This chapter feels like a diving board... there just for getting back into it. Oh well... I'll get there. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

In southern Ylisse, villagers were enjoying a quiet evening. In light of a recent disaster and conclusion, many were either preoccupied with recuperation or celebration. As such, no one noticed the brief flash of arcane runes in the sky, nor the jet black figure that passed through them and fell to the ground.

Thud! Adriane met the ground steadily with her feet, but the height sparked pain in her half-healed leg.

"Ah!" she gasped softly in surprise. Without even looking, she knew that the cloth on her leg had been bled through. A simple shift of her cloak and the weakness was temporarily hidden. The pain's resurgence brought to mind the auburn-haired healer and Adriane clenched her fist in consternation. _Incompetent, meddling bastard..._

With narrowed, cadet blue eyes she scanned the immediate area for threats. None. Adriane sighed, releasing some of her tension for a clearer frame of mind.

She was standing in the shadows of an alley, deathly silent.

 _Master Grima… Master Grima, where was he?_

There was no one around, but Adriane could feel a certain vibrancy in the air and a soft thrum of movement underneath the quiet. She was surrounded by buildings on three sides, and the only way out was down the long alleyway or through the buildings' doors. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Adriane noticed something off about the buildings. They appeared… untouched, unweathered. New, even. _No, that would be too strange_ , she insisted, _the enemies all retreated to the capital save for a few pockets of resistance. Even then, they lacked the resources and manpower to defend such structures, much less build them._ But as she suspiciously stepped towards the walls, the pristine appearance of the bricks gave it away.

No evidence of any recent attack. "Where am I?" Adriane whispered, eyes widening. She stepped back from the wall. Before she could try to reason out the situation, a second-floor window opened, and she immediately flattened herself against the wall.

A golden yellow light flooded the opposite end of the alleyway. As Adriane watched, arms holding a sloshing bucket appeared from the window, followed by a voice. "-ear, I know you just got home, but could you please take the rest out the back?" An indiscernible grumble responded. "But dear, it's been your turn for a few days now! Naga help me, even the kids are complaining of the smell!" More grumbling, then acquiescence.

There was a splat on the cobblestones a few feet to Adriane's left, and the putrid stink of feces and piss flooded the alley. Business finished, the woman in the building closed the window and the outside was once more plunged into darkness.

Adriane ignored the smell and brandished a small dagger to strike the incoming soldier. They hadn't seen her yet, and from the sounds of it, the man was coming alone. A plan formulated in her mind and, waiting by the door, she melded into the shadows.

The door creaked open and out walked a middle-aged man holding a burlap sack. He dragged the bag behind him into the alleyway muttering under his breath. As soon as the door closed shut, Adriane sprang on him. Taking a fistful of his shirt, she slammed him against the opposite wall and placed the dagger on his neck.

"Make a sound and everyone dies," she hissed. Sweat beaded the man's forehead as he nodded his head as much as the blade would allow. "Good."

"First question. Where are we?" The man's eyes widened as he replied, "what? You don't-"

"Spit it out or I'll cut your tongue!"

"S-s-southtown!"

"Lies. Master Grima reduced that place to the dirt years ago. The new resistance wouldn't have buildings such as this. Tell me the truth!" As if to emphasize her point, the blade bit through skin and lapped at the blood.

 _I'll never find Master Grima at this rate._

"I'm not lying!" the man gasped. "Who's Grima?" His eyes let on confusion, and Adriane knew she would get nothing out of this one. She pushed hard with the dagger, dug into the flesh until metal hit the stone of the wall. She let go of the body dispassionately and the soldier slumped onto the cobblestones along with a small chink on the ground.

Adriane crouched down to look at the small object on the ground. It was a little pouch with a drawstring. Upon pulling the opening wide, she was surprised to find several yellow coins with the face of a woman molded onto them.

 _Money? But humans ceased to use currency over a decade ago, once the war worsened._

Unsure what to do with it, she fastened the bag to her belt.

Grey eyes glanced back at the body and took note of the corpse's attire. Unarmored, the man was clad in civilian clothing with nary a trace of a weapon on his person. Additionally, there was the expression in his eyes as she asked her questions. Surprise. Disbelief. Confusion. He truly seemed to be ignorant of… well… everything that has been happening the past few years. _He's probably just that good at acting_ , she tried to tell herself, but even she could feel the tendrils of doubt in her logic.

Suppose the man was telling the truth-no. That someone of that age live so far from the conflict to be sheltered was improbable. No, it was impossible. But the money, and his clothing, and these buildings…

"Dear? Are you still outside? I forgot to include something when you took the trash out…" That didn't sound like the voice of someone who's suffered through conflict, but it was getting closer and the body lay conspicuously against the wall. Strange place or not, she couldn't let the enemies know of her appearance, not when she didn't even know where they were keeping Master Grima.

First things first, she had to eliminate the immediate threats and then leave. Second would be to find out more of the enemy territory so she could find her Master. The amount of subterfuge and killing depended on whether her Ylissean guard uniform would be accepted. For her own sake and energy reserves, Adriane hoped it would be. She could feel the throbbing in her leg worsen.

Hand on the doorknob, Adriane readied her blade and stepped inside.

* * *

A/N Four enemies and one chapter slain! +50 EXP. Level Up! Can now use Rightful Angst and Rally Writing Speed. Status effect Depression disappears. Item Inspiration [x1] acquired.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N I'm so dizzy, but… I couldn't really stop writing… I hope when I'm a little more awake I can make something happen out of what was written here. Or that I didn't screw over any plot devices by adding in random information again… Also, thanks for reading, you. That's quite nice of you. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

When it was over, three bodies lay strewn across the floor and Adriane was breathing heavily amongst them.

They were absolutely no help in finding Grima, or the Ylisseans that had taken the portal.

 _Master, where are you? I need your help,_ she thought desperately.

Nothing, nothing, nothing. Not one-the mother, her daughter, her son-knew _anything!_ And what they _did_ tell her… With her knees on the ground and clutching her head in her hands, Adriane tried to steady her breathing and calm down. It was little use.

Southtown was standing, contrary to her recent reports. Judging by the presence of the coins, these people still used currency even though they had become practically worthless over a decade ago. Lastly, these Ylisseans were completely ignorant of the war.

 _It didn't make any sense, none of it did, unless…_ Adriane stilled, the realization dawning upon her. It was ridiculous, it should be impossible, but it was the only way any of this was possible.

The war didn't happen, or at least not yet.

She rushed out the door, back into the alley. Dead, accusatory eyes and the scent of blood followed her footsteps as she sprinted away, as far away as she could go. Her feet hammered as fiercely against the cobblestone as her heart on her chest.

Thud, thud, thud. _Breathe, you will be fine. He will be fine._

She couldn't shake off the thought that they were still apart and she was still alone.

Slowly the darkness and quiet were replaced with the hustle and bustle of a town at night. Adriane's eyes widened as she took in the bright lights and busywork of civilians.

From within a cage, a four chickens squawked angrily at a peasant farmer who got close. "The lady chickens are real nice, I swear…" he was saying to an unconvinced buyer. He was steadily losing his quarry's attention to...

...a gruff-looking blacksmith announced his wares to the street. "Weapons! Bronze swords, bows, all combat-ready to def-"

"-ended me against the bandits! The one with the blue hair, oh, you really should have seen him. That exposed bicep-glorious," a woman in a simple dress exclaimed to her friend. She was making squeezing motions with her hand in demonstration, to which the other commoner nodded vigorously. "Very nice," she agreed. "Though his friend with the cloak…" The first woman looked thoughtful. "Yes, not bad, not bad at all…"

"...though if yer askin' me, we're better off just marchin' straight to Plegia and givin' them a what for," argued a half-drunken sailor to a scantily-clad woman. "...right," Adriane could read on her lips as the prostitute pressed her body up against her customer. "How about it, sweets? Gonna help me break this peace?" The prostitute looked like all she wanted to do was to break his bank.

It grew to be too much, building and building into a tremendous wave crashing down. The sights, the smells, the sounds, they were an overload for her unaccepting mind. It was all making her feeling very self-conscious and Adriane tugged her hood even lower over her eyes. She then blinked and took a step back in an attempt to disentangle herself…

...and promptly banged into an armored chest. She lost her balance and the cold ground welcomed her. She grunted as she fell awkwardly on her leg. Adriane heard a collective thud as several wrapped objects fell to the ground, but the only thing that registered was that it was a _soldier_. No one had paid the lone woman any attention just yet. She instinctively leapt back for some distance and put a hand on the sword's hilt.

Ruffled, chestnut curls greeted her glare as an armored man hurriedly pointed his attention to the parcels strewn across the floor. He made no move to attack her, and for that, Adriane slowly relaxed her stance and watched him. She didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to herself, after all.

"I'm sorry about that… milady. I was not watching where I was going. Are you hurt?" said the man, discreetly trying to peer under her hood. His brown hair framed identically colored eyes in a serious expression. He was tall, for a soldier, and powerful, if the bulky armor was any indication. A tough man to kill, but again, not hostile, so Adriane managed to shake her head.

Unfortunately, something in her posture and the way she shifted her stance gave her away. "Are you hurt from the attack earlier? Why do you not visit the infirmary for healing?" he asked. He reached a hand towards her leg and she made the mistake of backing into the light. Her wound had reopened and for a split second, bloodstains were in plain view.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, unused to the concern and suspicious of his motives.

The man's brow creased in concern. "You are not. Where are your relatives, young one? It is dangerous this late at night for a lone female," he said, already walking deeper into the town. "I… I don't have any. And why is it dangerous? I can handle myself." The warrior didn't know why she was telling him this, but she went with the words that flowed freely from her mouth.

"You're coming with me."

"I don't even know you!" she exclaimed angrily. He halted next to her, and the way the light glinted off of his armor and weapon reminded her that this was not a man to be trifled with.

"My apologies. I am Frederick, a Shepherd of Ylisse. I cannot see the extent of your injuries, but please come with me to a healer before you pass out or it becomes infected." He continued forwards, not turning back. The tone in his words offered no give and Adriane bit her lip in consternation.

She groaned.

* * *

Upon hearing the loud voices inside the inn, Adriane had opted to stay outside while Frederick fetched his friend.

Out here, her only companions lay in the unassuming moon and occasional breeze. Adriane was seated on stairs that led to the building. Alone, she hugged her knees to her chest in an effort to contain her emotions. The door creaked, signifying Frederick's return, and immediately she released her knees and assumed an uncaring attitude.

"We're back. I'm sorry for the wait, my charge and his friend were causing a ruckus," Frederick apologized. Adriane nodded mutely, her hair shifting slightly with the action. After deliberation, she figured no one would recognize her in the past so her identity was little issue. Her hood had gone down, revealing her face.

Following the brunette knight was a petite figure in a dress. "Again, thank you for this. I know you need your sleep," the man said in a deep timbre.

"It's no problem, Frederick…" she replied, and then turned to Adriane. "But why didn't you come visit me earlier?"

Something about this woman seemed familiar and it was with great hesitation that Adriane responded, "I was… preoccupied. It is how I sustained my injuries."

"But there's so much blood!"

"...most of it is not mine." Frederick's eyes narrowed at the sword on her belt. Whether from appraisal or mistrust, Adriane couldn't discern.

"Oh, did the bandits get to you? I hope you gave our enemies what they deserved!" Frederick's companion seemed unaware of the growing tension. A pause. "It was coming to them. Worthless trash," Adriane said, thinking of the future. The knight relaxed, but not completely.

The blonde teenager stretched her arms and let out a small yawn. In one hand she sleepily held a small staff-for the healing, presumably. Her hair was disheveled and rested just past her shoulders, but there were bumps near the top of her head. She wore a plain yellow dress with long sleeves and it was this that she wiped her eyes on as she asked, "so where-yawn-does it hurt?"

Adriane would have shrunk back, but Frederick moved forward and carefully set aside the edge of her black cloak. In the clear light, the Risen's stab to her thigh wasn't nearly as bad as it had seemed, but it was still healing far too slowly for Adriane's liking.

"This is the only wound worth mentioning," Adriane mumbled.

"Okay, I see it. Hold still for a second." The healer gingerly prodded at the cut and then ran the healing staff over it. "Just a little bit…" A warm light enveloped the cloaked woman's injury. "And… hmm. A little bit more…" More magic. The glow intensified. "I guess I'm just sleepy enough to need more magic," the healer murmured to herself. "It should be okay now though…"

Frederick rested his hand on the blonde's shoulder. Then, causing pink to bloom on the healer's cheeks and the color to drain from Adriane's, he said, "Yes, she should be. Thank you, Lissa."

"L-like I said, it was n-no problem!"

 _Lissa. That woman from the portal._ _She should know where the others are! I must!.._

But Lissa had already gone inside. And… she hadn't recognized her. At least, she hadn't made it known. She couldn't rule out the very-likely possibility that they were unacquainted at this point in time.

Adriane decided to let the matter be for now. Just to be on the safe side however, she would leave soon. It was better to not take chances and ruin the flow of time too much. _I just need to find Master Grima, then those soldiers' heads, and then a way back._

"Are you satisfied? You appear to have questions," Frederick said from her side. As she was lost in her self-beration, Frederick had taken the opportunity to sit next to her. He glanced at her quickly, but quickly looked to the sky when their eyes met. For some reason, she could sense some disappointment from him.

Adriane paused, before deciding, _fuck it_ , and said, "it has been some time since I last encountered civilization like this." Not a lie. Truth rang from her words and Frederick seemed interested. "I have lost track of time. What is the date?"

He told her, sans the year.

"...and the year?" she prompted. He gave her an inquisitive arch of an eyebrow, as if to say, _and what is the explanation for this lapse?_ Nevertheless, he answered her question. It was all Adriane could do to remain calm.

 _Over seventeen years… I've gone back over seventeen years._

The thought made the blue-haired woman dizzy. She wasn't supposed to exist here, yet here she was. All along she had thought that her past counterpart was already alive. Once she was born, would that have consequences on her existence? Would the world fall in on itself because there were two of her? She imagined her body disappearing-or worse-little Adriane vanishing from her parents. She shuddered, and prayed that Frederick would assume it was from a chill.

"Why are you helping me?" she managed to say after a piercing silence. Her voice was calm, composed. She wanted to scream.

"Well, you are a citizen in need and it is my duty as a knight of Ylisse to lend aid." She gave him a blank look, unconvinced. Frederick cleared his throat uncomfortably and sighed, "you bear a striking resemblance to my charge, not so much in demeanour as looks. For a moment, I thought you could be one of-" Frederick stopped himself before he went any further. "No, you are just another village maiden, albeit a capable one. Still, I suppose I feel a sense of responsibility towards you as well," he finished. A blush dusted his cheeks at the confession, but he briefly held her gaze to show his sincerity.

Adriane relaxed. So it was just an imaginary kinship that he felt for her, not suspicion. Her cover was not blown, despite the many questions she had asked. "Um… Would you like a drink?" Frederick inquired. Woman looked at man strangely.

"Excuse me?" she asked, oblivious to his discomfort.

Frederick blinked and seemed to remember himself. He slightly flinched from his position. "S-sorry, I forget myself. Have a good night, milady. I will leave you now."

With a small grunt, Frederick shook his head and pushed himself up from the wooden steps. "Take care of yourself," he said as he left.

 _Was that a threat? Have I given myself away?_

Adriane watched his retreating armored back through narrowed eyes, simultaneously daring and dreading for him to make an attack. Nothing ensued. He simply ascended the stairs and was gone, and the navy-haired woman let out a small sigh of relief.

 _Master, what do I do? I'm so lost without you…_

She wasn't meant for any of this subtlety and deceit. While not slow to learn, she was not cunning and she had no idea what this world was like. How she had managed to make it this far amongst the Ylissean scum was unfathomable to the Grimleal servant. Who to trust, who to kill…

The warrior unsheathed her sword just a little, just for the thrilling ring of metal as it sang for blood. Her heart spiked in its beating at the warm, familiar sound. This is what I am. A weapon, _his_ weapon. Best not to forget that. Her own reflection resided in the steel, like a parallel world.

Adriane frowned as she saw how her grey eyes swirled with hues of blue. They looked almost bright, vibrant, even, but she saw it for the curse it was. Sighing, she retrieved the bottle of potion she had remembered to keep on her person. A pop of the cork and the same pungent smell greeted her.

With a grimace, and then gag, she downed the dosage.

The vile substance slithered down her throat and throughout her entire body. As always, her system was repulsed by the potion, but she kept it down. As her eye color solidified to a grey, so did her resolve. Solemnly, she closed her eyes.

 _I've made some mistakes, Master Grima, Morgan. But I will repay by finding the ones who traveled back before me. I will lay them at your feet, and we will continue our goal._

* * *

A/N So Frederick's kind of cute. So what.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N I wonder how long this whole thing is going to be. I want to move on to stereotypical fluff and gore, but I also want to fit in angsty development. Oh well. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

 **Paragraphs in italics usually mean scenes from the past. I just don't want anyone to be confused, so I'm throwing it out there now.**

* * *

" _...ey, is anyone there?"_

 _There was a throbbing in her head and a dull ache in her back. "Mm… I'm here," she called out weakly. She lay propped up against a ruined column. The ground was a solid stone that matched the walls. Here and there, huge cracks marred the otherwise unblemished surface. Surrounded by cerulean and marble pillars of a similar state, the young blue-haired girl had to guess that she was in a temple of some sort._

" _Wh-where am I? How'd I end up here?" she mumbled._

 _The young girl brushed aside her navy locks to rub at her eyes. When she reopened them, she was still here, in an unknown room. Beyond the piles of marble, a man with a similar hair color came into view. In his hands he held a sword, ready to attack, but Morgan felt that she could trust him._

 _She waved an arm and was greeted with a pleased smile. "Well well well, what's a rare beauty like you doing in these ruins? You don't look like a treasure hunter, that's for sure," he said in a tone that he probably thought was suave, accompanied with a wink._

" _...what," Morgan responded blankly. His behavior confused her. Was he… was he hitting on someone he just met?_

" _Oh, I'm so rude. My name is Inigo." He winked those baby blue eyes again and offered a hand._

 _She ignored the wink, but used his hand to pull herself up. A small wave of dizziness came over her, but nothing too bad. Must have been from hitting her head earlier. She glanced accusingly at the rubble. "Morgan. Pleasure. Excuse me, but have you seen my father anywhere? I remember that I came here to do something for him, so he must be around here somewhere…"_

" _No, I don't believe I have. I can help you leave however. If he heard the explosion that happened here, he should probably be outside by now," Inigo offered apologetically. He looked around at the recent destruction. "Was that you?"_

 _Morgan shrugged. "Possibly. I don't remember. I can't really… remember anything. I think I hit my head," she confessed. Inigo whistled, impressed. "I just really need to find my father."_

 _She dusted off her cloak and made to leave, but Inigo stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Wait… this fixation on finding your father and your sudden appearance… you wouldn't happen to be from the future too, could you?" he asked._

" _The future? As in time travel?" Morgan gave the other man a befuddled expression._

* * *

Now, Morgan was not confused. She knew exactly what was going on.

She took a step out, feeling the crunch of grass beneath her feet. The scent of forest and running water met her nose and she took a long, deep breath. Above, the sky was dark, but spotted with stars. The powerful mage eyed her surroundings critically, as was her custom, then sighed. It had been a while since she had encountered so much life.

Her job was to change that.

Behind her, archaic runes continued to glow in a circular pattern. A Risen soldier stepped through, followed by an archer, followed by another melee warrior. Eyes glowing red, they acknowledged their commander before falling into their set formation. Morgan fingered the dark tome that hung from within her coat, just as anxious as the undead in the unfamiliar setting. She closed her eyes.

There was the familiar burning sensation on her back. _Master Grima. I am here._

 _Morgan. You've arrived,_ said an emotionless voice.

 _Where am I? When am I?_

 _Southern Ylisse._ The image of a map briefly appeared in her mind. He also informed her of the date, and she inclined her head to the side thoughtfully. That early? A memory fell to her of her father's first battles. _So it falls to me to launch that attack this time around. I hope you don't expect me to pose as the Risen Chief and die, Father,_ she mused jokingly. The mark of Grima on her back flared unpleasantly and her demeanor sobered.

In an irritated voice, the Avatar responded, _silence, Morgan. Things are different this time. So far, there has been no showing of Adriane, or her, so this will be the Shepherd's first encounter against our soldiers. Morgan. What do you think is best for this battle?_

Very rarely the Fell Dragon asked for the tactician's opinions, and only when he was struggling with himself. Father, are you alright?

Keeping her mind neutral and blank, Morgan replied, _defeat. This Avatar should have already attached himself to the Shepherds. If we slaughter them in front of him, we can never hope to sway him to our side. I will watch, and I will wait before taking any deviating actions._

 _Your actions speak of prudence, but is it wise to delay the inevitable?_ he asked. Impatience. Desperation.

 _We have no power just yet,_ Morgan argued. _Valm still stands. The Grimleal have not been fully reawakened. Adriane is still missing. I understand your desire to move forward, but we just do not have the resources yet._ She caught her reprimanding tone. _Master Grima,_ she added quickly.

 _Very well. Return to me once your task is finished. You know where to find me._

The connection was severed and Morgan discreetly let out the breath she had been holding. He had listened, and he had followed. But there was time to celebrate small victories later. And privacy, Morgan noted as she felt the red-eyed gazes of the walking dead. The tactician knelt on the ground, picked up a stick, and closed her eyes.

"There was a forest here," she whispered and scribbled in the dirt. "A river." Jagged lines were scratched in. "Small open field… between these and the road…" She left a blank space open and drew a neat line to signify the road. "What I wouldn't give for some flying units," she lamented, glancing at the hard-to-navigate forest.

Crude map finished, Morgan pulled out a hidden tome she kept on her person. Its covers were a midnight black and she knew there was no other like it, at least not yet. As her gloved fingers skimmed over its pages with practiced ease, the tactician raised her head and gave the order.

"All right. Archers, cluster here, here and here," she said in a soft voice. "Fighters, go here. Mages… ha-ha, oh that'll be funny. Yeah, go there. Healers go here." She stopped herself. "No, that's too good. I'll put you somewhere stupid." She placed them in a suicidal position amusedly. Morgan stopped again, reconsidering it, then putting them back into their original position. "If I'm going to throw this battle, I won't go down without a fight." The runes on her tome glowed brightly for a split second before the ink shriveled up into nothingness.

Lastly, Morgan pulled aside a random soldier. "You. You're Risen Chief. Go stand at the back and look important, but don't actually do anything. Well, maybe except yelling some gibberish now and then," she commanded. "Oh, and give me your cape. It's getting kind of cold this season." No response, but it did her bidding.

As her troupe marched forward, Morgan rubbed her hands eagerly. She watched her undead be illuminated by the moonlight. Under the shades of darkness, Morgan could almost take them for humans, but she tamped down the memories quickly before they went anywhere.

The mage's shadow started to flicker as the portal began to shut down. With a weak flash of light, it spluttered and died, leaving only Morgan and one other figure.

Not even looking up, Morgan said casually, "Oh good, you're here. I thought my army was missing one in its number."

It said nothing, as was customary for a soldier, but Morgan was used to it. She tossed the tattered cape at the shuffling creature. "You know your role in all this," she said, tapping the tome and winking.

Once she was sure that she was absolutely alone, the young woman sighed. Feeling a strange sort of melancholy, she murmured, "Father, I've studied up. Let's fight, and see whose strategy prevails."

* * *

" _Inigo, are you alright? Who are you talking to?" Another person appeared, this time a woman who looked like a mirror of Inigo. Morgan idly wondered if blue was a common hair color nowadays._

" _I'm more than fine, now that I've met this pretty girl. I think she's like us-a time-traveler. Do you know who this lovely lass is, sis?" Inigo asked the other blue-haired woman. He draped an arm flirtatiously over Morgan's shoulders. Why was he so friendly? "Lecher," muttered Morgan, and Inigo chuckled. The sound brought a teeny smile to her lips._

 _Lucina shook her head. "I'm as much in the dark as you. I don't remember a Morgan from our time…" She trailed off, pausing to look at Morgan thoughtfully. "That cloak," she stated, pointing at the article of clothing, "that cloak looks very familiar. Almost like..."_

 _Morgan looked at the soft fabric she wore. Dusty tomes. Snowy-blonde hair. Her face lit up at unexpected memories. "Oh, yes!" she said enthusiastically, becoming a whole other person. "My father gave this to me when I was younger and still learning basic tactics. He told me to grow into it because he wouldn't be needing it anymore. Nice, right? I want to be a tactician like him someday." She gave a twirl for emphasis and the patterned garment billowed spectacularly around her small frame. She missed the shared look between the siblings, or rather, Inigo's surprised smile and Lucina's widened eyes._

" _I thought you said you couldn't remember anything other than your name. So you remember who your parents are? Your mother too, maybe?" spoke Inigo amusedly. Morgan stopped. Her mother… the young tactician tried to recall her mother, but it was as if invisible restraints holding her back. She shook her head. "No," she confessed. "Honestly, almost all of my memories are connected to my father only. Why? Do you know who my mother is? And my father? Can you take me to them?" She bounced in excitement and Inigo chuckled. In a not-so-subtle manner, he pushed his sister forward._

" _Maybe Lucina here can help."_

 _Though not much taller than Morgan, the princess bent her knees to be at eye level. Meeting the young girl's expectant eyes, eyes that were no doubt his, Lucina smiled nervously. "Well, you see, your mother is-"_

 _Soft steps had been approaching them in the dimly-lit ruins. "Lucina, are you there?" The voice was subdued, but firm. There was an almost tender quality in the sentence. Uncharacteristic, but Morgan could pick that voice out in a crowd. "Father?" gasped Morgan._

 _Finally, from behind a turquoise column emerged the man of the hour. Upon seeing the group, Robin stood still as a ramrod with his hands in his pockets. "What did you call me?" the Shepherd's tactician asked stoically, all traces of warmth gone._

 _Morgan was already running to him. "Father!" she yelled happily, launching herself at Robin. She wrapped her arms around his waist. Robin stiffened at the contact, but he didn't pull away. Inigo's brow arched at the reaction, but he kept silent._

" _Oh, Father, I'm so happy I've finally found you!" Lucina gave a half-hearted shrug at the girl and motioned for him to listen to her._

 _Robin gently, but awkwardly, extracted himself from the hug. "So you're my daughter?" he asked curiously. He kept her at arm's length with his hands on her shoulders. Hazel eyes identical to her matching own searched for the truth._

" _Yes. My name is Morgan, though if that blatant flirt over there is telling the truth-" Inigo could be heard protesting in the background "-then you wouldn't know me yet because I'm in the past. I can't remember much of anything, really," she mumbled, ashamed at her own ignorance. Robin nodded contemplatively. He seemed to be debating with himself, and after a few moments said, "all right. Let me tell you something."_

 _The white-haired tactician closed the distance between himself and Lucina. An arm casually, possessively wrapped itself around the blue warrior's waist. Aware of their audience, Lucina turned red and stuttered, "R-Robin, I really-" His eyes never left Morgan, but the hand squeezed her side in reassurance._

" _This intelligent, powerful, and beautiful woman will be your mother," he dictated, then paused, as if daring anyone to contradict him. Inigo raised his hands in mock surrender and backed away. Lucina remained silent. When Morgan only nodded her head vigorously, Robin continued, "we're not married yet, but we will be after this whole mess of a war is done with. Preferably we'll keep it to less than three kids, one of which was to be named Morgan. Now, I need you to tell me right now-are there any events that jeopardize this future? I recognize the cloak, but if you're lying about who you are, about anything, I will not hesitate to kill you where you stand."_

 _He said all of this so nonchalantly, but Morgan knew her father well enough to know when he was being absolutely serious, even when making death threats. How she knew this was beyond her memory's grasp. She had to answer carefully._

" _I… like I said, I don't remember much, so I don't know of any bad things happening in the future…" His eyes narrowed dangerously, and Morgan interjected, "But! I know I was happy. You seemed happy too. I don't think we would feel that way if Mother was gone."_

 _Robin had been staring at her intensely, but his eyes softened once Morgan called Lucina 'Mother.' 'He looks so much younger,' thought Morgan. 'A little less burdened.' Eventually, the older tactician seemed to accept her answer. "Come here,' he called out with a rare, true smile. His free arm was outstretched, welcoming the newest addition to the group._

 _And, eagerly, Morgan allowed herself to be enveloped in the warmth of her parents._

" _And when were you going to tell me of this future, hmm, Robin? What if I didn't want to get married and have kids?" Lucina teased._

" _Eheh, Lucy, you know how I like to plan things ahead," murmured Robin. He sounded oddly bashful, a far cry from his seriousness of before. Then he gave a roguish grin and nuzzled her neck. "Besides, you think I'd take no for an answer? You're going to be staying with me forever if Morgan is any evidence!"_

 _The warrior, the tactician, and the proof of their love laughed._

 _Though he hated to break up such a scene, someone had to. Inigo cleared his throat. Three pairs of eyes darted to the prince as he said awkwardly, "it's different for me because I've suspected this-" he gestured to his sister and her lover "-all along, but…" A pregnant pause._

" _Who's going to tell Chrom?"_

* * *

A/N I'll update soon. I'm getting restless about this plot.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N The (not-really) big too-oh! Not much happening here except set-up. It's been so long that I've forgotten the name of that corrupt noble I inserted. Looking back on it, naming a villain after a old childhood bully seems like a petty thing to do. Oh  
well. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

 _If he closes his eyes, he can clearly envision the dark, cavernous dungeons, the glowing violet hues of the symbol on his skin and on the others' skins. In the shops of apothecaries, his mind is assaulted with the stench of foul brews and burning flesh. With his tongue, the finest wine tastes of the dirt it was exalted from, their sweet flavor tainted with the cost in obtaining it. And sometimes, when all is quiet, Robin hears the screams of the living sacrifices. Once in awhile, he hears his own voice either joining the shouts or spurring them on._

 _Oh yes, Robin remembers._

 _His memories were largely intact after all, since that fateful day when he had met Chrom. Robin had been lying in a field, clothes drenched in blood and surrounded by the decimated bodies of his foes. And… one other. His mother had been amongst her number, but try as he might, he couldn't recall the cause of her death, or the reason for his appearance in his field. Mother, why can't I remember? He finds it a miracle that Chrom offers him a place with the Shepherds so readily, and thinks the prince a fool. Still, Robin had accepted._

 _Robin remembers his childhood._

 _He had been a carefree, only child, showered with affection by doting parents. Mother and father… their faceswere so hazy now, but he could never forget the warmth of a mother's touch, nor the low rumbling laughter of an approving father. That had all come to an end when men in dark cloaks had taken his blood and taken his father. When Robin's father returned, everything changed. The kind Validar was gone, replaced with a selfish man who lusted for power. He remembers his mother yelling at her husband-how dare you, he's just a child, think about us, think about what will happen to us-and his father slapping his wife-do you realize how long we have waited, this is what is to be. And through it all, Robin had watched quietly._

 _That was the beginning of the end._

 _As a child, the Plegian-born tactician had been fed lie after lie after lie from his father-Robin, you are the future. Robin, you will do great things. Robin, the future is yours to make. Robin… I love you. Reconsideration makes him think that perhaps his father, Validar, was telling him a truth about love. You only love someone if they benefit you in some way. For his father, it was the blood that flowed within Robin's veins. Infused with dark magic and fortified through horrendous experiments, Robin would have been the ultimate tool in reawakening the Fel Dragon. He was powerful, intelligent, and determined… but in the end he knew he remained another cog in the machine and the empty promises of affection and family crumbled into dust._

 _But through it all, there was always that part of him that refused to be a part of anyone else's mechanisms. So determined was he to forge his own fate._

 _Thus, Robin is not a trusting person. His philosophy: give others the power and they will take your life in their hands. A bleak outlook. The tactician supposes it is only natural, given the circumstances of his past. He maintains a clearly defined boundary between himself and the other Shepherds in the army._

 _Of course they rebel, in their own way. Lissa whines and jumps on his back playfully. Sumia and Cordelia offer him sappy book recommendations. Stahl performs the odd job for him now and then. Gaius occasionally slides him exotic orange-flavored candy, cheekily calling him "Bubbles" whilst doing so._

 _They all fail, though not because he hates them. Robin wants to accept their extended hands, but he cannot ignore the sea of emotions that trusting them would entail. The memories… they drown him with their voices. Don't forget that your father loved you too, once, they say. You became a tool. What are you to them now? Who's to say this is different? The Shepherds all fail because he…_

 _Will not._

 _Let anyone._

 _Hurt him._

 _Again._

 _So why does the corner of his mouth twitch when Chrom claps him on the back for a job well done? Why is it that a small chuckle escapes him when Miriel confounds Vaike with her extensive vocabulary? Just why does-when he sees a certain blue butterfly mask-he feel lighter on his feet?_

 _He feels his icy exterior melt just a bit. Robin supposes that this is what making friends was. Despite himself, Robin allows that small sliver of hope. Because… for the first time in a long time… he is happy, all because of Chrom's willingness to trust a broken stranger. A small leap of faith._

 _That is why, when his opinion is asked for on whether or not to let "Marth" join the Shepherds after the Regna Ferox arena duel, he says yes._

* * *

Unknowingly, Robin maintains a small smile long after he awakes.

The young, white-haired tactician wakes up on a straw-stuffed mattress and several pillow feathers in his mouth. His body feels sore, but of the kind that comes from contorting your limbs in your sleep. He yawns, smells the alcohol on his breath, and  
grimaces. A slight throbbing is coming from the back of his head, most likely from the same culprit as his breath.

 _Oh well,_ he shrugged. _It could be worse. I could have a terrible headache._

"Nnnggghhhh," came a loud groan to his left. Robin noticed the the bed parallel to his, as well as the prince-shaped lump that occupied it. A blanket was draped over the figure, but judging from the continuous moans, it was neither comfortable nor effective  
at blocking sunlight. A few strands of blue hair peeked out from under the scratchy material. "I have a terrible headache!" Chrom complained.

"Same," Robin chuckled. Bright blue eyes glared at him. "Frederick was right-you are a bad influence on me. Drinking that much is all your fault," he claimed jokingly. "You're out of the Shepherds." The Robin of yesterday would have taken his words literally,  
but their dynamic seemed to have changed. Somehow, despite the short amount of time knowing him, Robin was more aware of the prince's mannerisms, and thus he only clicked his tongue amusedly.

"You can try," he responded dryly. "A tactical decision, I'm sure." The mage took a moment to stretch his muscles again and nudged Chrom with his foot. "Speaking of Frederick," Robin said, "we should probably head down. He should have prepared the supplies  
for travel."

Chrom rose from underneath the blanket like a bear from hibernation. Sleepily, he nodded his head, then winced as the motion worsened his headache. "Yes, he bought them last night. Oh, and I forgot to tell you this, Robin, but we're going to have to visit  
Ylisstol," he informed the new tactician.

Robin looked at him, confused. "Come again?"

His companion nodded again, this time slowly. "The capital of this country. As the new tactician of the Shepherds, you need to meet the people who will be following your orders. Currently we all reside in the palace." Chrom eased himself off of the bed  
and began strapping on his boots.

It dawned on Robin that he would be making major decisions on the battlefield, decisions that dictated who lived to fight another day and who paid a permanent visit six feet under. He gulped. "Are they nice?" he asked weakly. "Are they like… Frederick?  
I wouldn't blame them. An amnesiac that you've known for less than twenty-four hours isn't exactly your standard recruit…" Robin put a hand on the back of his neck worriedly.

Chrom's frame shook with mirth, and he paused from his shoulder armor to look at Robin. "They aren't your standard soldiers either," he reassured Robin, "but believe me when I say that all are equally capable in battle. I'm sure once they see how you  
work, they'll be won over." Robin grinned, and dropped his hand.

As Robin pulled his cloak back on, Chrom fiddled with his shoulderguard, muttering as the straps fell out of his grasp once more. "Need help?" Robin asked. Chrom's shoulders sagged in defeat, and Robin took the leather in his hands. "It's faster if you  
ask for help," he muttered, sliding the metal clasps into their place. "Careful. You might turn into my second retainer at this rate," kidded Chrom.

Robin rolled his eyes.

* * *

"Milord, Robin," called Frederick with a tilt of his head. His tone was considerably warmer, though it maintained a professional distance.

He was perched atop a barstool, already outfitted in the full armor from yesterday. From the looks of it, he had been conversing with the bartender but had paused briefly upon their arrival. Two chairs to his right, Lissa swung her legs from a chair that  
was too high for her short legs. In front of her was a plate of half-eaten eggs and toast. She gave them an enthusiastic wave, beckoning them to join her.

"I'm fresh out of the hangover stuff. The guy who usually comes 'round here and delivers that stuff didn't come this morning. If you ask me, it's those kids he keeps around. At that age they're always wanting their papa," the bartender was saying with  
a shake of his head. Frederick inclined his head and thanked the man before turning his attention to his liege.

"The preparations are ready, Milord. When you have finished eating, we can depart for Ylisstol," informed the chestnut-haired knight. "Oh, and I checked with the innkeeper as well. Yost has already departed for the North on a side trade route. We shouldn't  
be running into him anytime soon."

"Thank you, Frederick," replied Chrom. He occupied the seat between his sister and his friend and Robin took the stool on the knight's opposite side. "I'd ask for a hangover drink, but judging by your facial expressions, they don't have any." Frederick  
shrugged, and Robin took the exclusion as an opportunity to order.

"Some bread and eggs please," he asked a nearby waitress. As she walked away, he felt his eyes drift to the wine bottles and a smile flitted on his face. He was _pretty sure_ that he won whatever drinking game he and Chrom had played.

Still, several strands of conversation managed to pierce Robin's reveries.

Frederick spoke in low tones. Discreet, private even, if not for the fact that Robin was mere inches away. "...if your father had any others," the knight was saying. Chrom shook his head as a negative, responding, "I know of only two, but they both live  
in Ylisstol and take after their mother. Emmeryn and I tried reaching out to them years ago, but they want nothing to do with the royal family. Still, we've placed eyes on their movements, just to make sure they aren't involved in anything against  
the crown. Why, did you meet another?"

Frederick hesitated. "I may have, last night" he spoke pensively. "A woman with the telling blue hair. Her facial features greatly resembled yours, but with a softer edge. Admittedly, her eyes don't bear any resemblance to your bloodline, but that  
can be attributed to her mother. She was very closed woman, so I couldn't confirm her heritage, but the possibility is highly likely that she is the product of such a… coupling."

Ah. They were discussing an illegitimate child, or woman more like.

The prince put a hand to his chin thoughtfully. His brow was furrowed, indication of his worry. Robin could understand. For some reason, he understood the implied dangers of a bastard in the court. Though born illegitimate, a child of the late Ylissean  
king could still assert his or her claim to the throne, which posed a problem to the reigning monarchs. A few whispered words here and there, unresolvable conflicts sprouting out of nowhere, and a ruler's credibility would be put to question. Lo and  
behold, the courtiers would produce a bastard raised to support their beliefs, one deemed 'more fit' to rule.

Some would outright dispose of the problem through permanent means, but Chrom seemed to be of the merciful type.

"Is she here right now?" he was asking.

"No milord. I checked early this morning and she was gone."

Chrom sighed. "I suppose that's that, then," he exhaled. "I don't want to bother her if she clearly wants to be left alone, but I have to do what I can to help Emmeryn. Those nobles can be bloody vicious. We'll send someone back here to look for this  
woman and guard her against any threats. Maybe I shall have to send extra men..."

The knight's lips curled ever so slightly. "Forgive me, milord, but she does not seem the type to need protection. It was only my own lack of attention that her wounds reopened."

By now, Lissa taken notice of her brother's discussion. "Oh, you mean that woman you brought last night? I thought she was a dream," said the blonde princess happily, but her cheerful voice was laced with apprehension.

Meanwhile, the waitress had returned with two heaping plates of food and two drinks. She set them in front of the men. The steaming egg and crunchy bread beckoned to the tactician, but he pushed the plate to the side in favor of observing the drama.

It was pretty obvious that the little princess favored her retainer, and Robin couldn't blame her. He was the standard for fairytale knights-loyal, strong, good-looking, and attentive. Well, maybe not too attentive. Frederick seemed completely oblivious  
to Lissa's feelings. Robin supposed it was for the best, but he couldn't help finding the whole situation entertaining.

Frederick muttered, "well, I mean, she was fairly attractive, and mysterious, and definitely seemed capable, but I wouldn't go so far as to call her a-"

 _So he likes to be curious, does he?_ quipped Robin mentally. He remembered the knight's early suspicion of him. _But only in women, I guess..._

"WHAT? YOU? _HER?_ " screeched Lissa, throwing her cup dramatically in the air. It shattered spectacularly on the floor in an equally dramatic fashion.

Her brother shot his eyes to the knight. "Hold on there, Frederick. I thought you said she looked just like me. Does this mean that all this time you've thought of me as-"

Frederick waved his hands frantically. A hot flush creeped up on his neck as he stammered, "m-milord, milady, please!"

And throughout the ensuing exchange, Robin watched quietly and continued stabbing yolk-soaked bread into his mouth. Yes. Quite entertaining.

* * *

A/N Kind of filler, kind of not. Most of the stuff here is important. As for the whole bit about Morgan, I've decided to delay it a chapter because this needed to be said to add context. Besides… it's my average chapter length, so meh.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N So… anyone else playing Fire Emblem: Heroes? It's pretty fun. That game combined with Bob Ross videos made me think that it might be okay to come back to this, despite not knowing what's going to happen or how it's all going to turn out. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

It is only an hour after they leave the town that the little princess makes her requests. The first—to ride his back—is quickly denied on account of his having 'squishy mage arms,' whatever that meant. Robin tried not to let the comment, or the way Chrom slides him a knowing look, bother him too much.

The second—to train her in the basics of tactics—is a solicitation he is happier to oblige to.

"Well, it can be a little tough to explain without losing you in all the technical bits," Robin replied thoughtfully. Lissa frowned in disappointment. "So, you can't teach me then?" she asked. Robin shook his head, the corner of his mouth angling upwards in a knowing grin. "I never said that, didn't I? Hand me a piece of paper."

As he speaks with the princess, Robin feels Frederick's watchful gaze from behind. The knight had insisted on going leading the way for Chrom, but still mistrusted the tactician too much to allow him to bring up the rear. Thus, the party had ended up with Robin and Lissa leading, followed by Frederick and occasionally Chrom when the prince desired some conversation. Robin ignores the knight drilling holes in the back of his head and instead tries to focus.

With practiced motions, the snowy-haired tactician drew a neat grid that spanned the entire length of the parchment. He made a thoughtful noise as Lissa watched over his shoulder, clearly enraptured with the process. "Ah-ha…" Robin muttered to himself as he fleshed out the grid with scribbles to represent trees, adding some squiggly lines to resemble a river as an afterthought. "This," he murmured to the young princess, "is a typical battlefield. I tried to make it look like the place where you found me. You've got your trees here, a little water obstruction here, and a bridge over the water. Still with me?"

"Yeah!" Lissa nodded vigorously, clutching her staff. "But where's the people?"

"I was just going to add them. Just… like… this." Robin covered the blonde's view of the paper briefly as he sketched out four little people at the bottom of the map to represent Chrom, Frederick, Lissa, and himself. Drawing out the people was not a critical aspect of strategy—he could have just as easily scratched out some stick figures—but the tactician found that he enjoyed this part of the process the best in his own private way. A few minutes flew by as he perfected his drawings, pausing every once in a while to swipe at a too-close Lissa playfully, much to Frederick's chagrin when Lissa's mock cries of pain grew too realistic.

Satisfied, he pulled away only to catch a rather unladylike snort and a chuckle from over his shoulder. Robin's mouth thinned. "Yes, Lissa? Is there something you'd like to say?" he asked dryly.

Another snort. Another burst of laughter. "You really didn't pull any punches with this one, did you, Robin? Is that supposed to be me? And… is that Frederick? Oh my, ahahaha!" Lissa laughed, a large grin threatening to split her face in two. She withdrew from him briefly to hold her aching sides. "You should—haha—stick to—ahahaha—trees and rivers—bahaha!"

Her sounds of amusement drew the attention of the other two men in the group. "Lissa, what's so funny?" asked Chrom, a curious smile playing on his face. Robin turned away quickly to hide the flush on his face.

"Nothing," he responded briskly as Lissa helplessly pointed to the paper in his hands. "She's crazy. Personally, I blame the heat." Then, to himself more than anyone, "I worked really hard on those…" Lissa continued gesturing wildly at the paper, and eventually Chrom snatched it up from a slightly-miffed looking Robin.

The prince's eyes crinkled in amusement. For a moment, his mouth quivered, as if trying—and failing—to disguise the urge to laugh. Then, giving up, the prince smiled indulgently. "It's obvious that you regard us well. Thank you, friend," Chrom said, his voice sounding guilty and entertained at once.

Robin rolled his eyes. "You're too kind," he remarked sarcastically, then took the drawn map back. "Now then. Lissa, the basics…"

* * *

She sees them long before they come close.

Morgan is well aware of the selfishness of her actions, but she can't restrain herself from a small indulgence here and there. Prince, princess, knight, and tactician—she follows them all through the eyes of the hidden Risen, and she watches. Her eyes are drawn to a certain tactician.

He grins happily at some joke. She pretends that it is she who has made that smile appear. He pats the head of that Ylissean princess. She imagines his warm hand softly ruffling her own hair. And, when they get closer, she makes out the odd bit of strategy that no one seems to get but her. She fantasizes her own presence next to him—oh how they would debate on the tactic's merits!

Morgan knows full well that she is being greedy, but still she pretends that she is by this Robin's side, once again soaking up his experience and his joys and his love. In this moment, she is a child again, still learning the basics of strategy. It was too tempting to just abandon her mission and live vicariously through the scenes in front of her. _Was this, perhaps, how Mother felt when she first came back and saw her father?_ To see your father so close and so lively, but ultimately out of your reach. She felt a stab of painful nostalgia, followed quickly by searing hate. Morgan smiled ruefully at the latter—the past wasn't all as grand as she was making it out to be, but glorified it would remain.

And it wasn't as if this were truly the past. This universe's Robin was very different, she decided. Where Master Grima's vessel had been stoic and apathetic, this vessel was open and eager to please. If it weren't for their shared features, she could never have believed that this was supposed to be Robin.

Was it for better or for worse? Morgan couldn't say. The dark mage supposes that all timelines must differ in some way. She wonders if this is all that's changed from the previous world, or if there were more discrepancies in store. As she continues to watch, she doesn't quite know how to feel if that were the case.

They were getting close. Hidden behind a copse of trees on a hill, it would only be a matter of time until they came her way, unless something happened to disrupt their path.

 _And that something is me._

She took a deep breath and focused within, on the magic that flowed within her veins. Her inner reservoir was overflowing with arcane energies, though most of it was not generated from her own strength. It was a cheap tactic, this foreign, chaotic mess, but she had been told enough tales about this event to know exactly how it was supposed to look like.

There had been fire and brimstone and lava. A large portal had appeared in the sky, inscribed with ancient runes and symbols. Flaming meteors had crashed down from the heavens. Morgan was powerful for a human mage, but these forces were decidedly cataclysmic in scale. Far beyond her own power. At least by leeching off Grima's arcane energy, she could do a poor man's impression of that fateful night.

 _The things I do for you, Father,_ she inwardly sighed, but lifted her fire tome. The sheer power lent her the strength she would need to follow history, but it didn't come without a cost. It surged against her walls of willpower, battering at her mental defenses, but as of yet she was physically unscathed.

Morgan figured that would change soon, but not quite yet. She still had some time. To herself, she breathed again and held her head high. "I hope you're ready."

And the earth shook.

* * *

Robin muttered another incantation under his breath.

On command, a wind projectile neatly sliced the head from the enemy's shoulders. That… _thing_ took one, two more steps before buckling. Before it could hit the ground, the body and head disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

Another swung its axe at him, and Robin dropped to the ground. Where his head had been whizzed the edge of a blade, but Robin didn't take much time to reflect on that fact before he pulled out his sword and stabbed it clean through a purple foot. Part of the blade was buried in the dirt, rooting whatever that thing was to the spot as he rolled away. With reflexes fueled purely by adrenaline, Robin retrieved his fallen wind tome and eviscerated the trapped enemy with his magic.

Another puff of smoke.

He huffed in exhaustion as he stood, his lungs burning from the exertion. There were so many of these red-eyed monsters that it was all Chrom and he could do to stay alive.

It was just the two of them. When the ground had ruptured and cracked into two under their feet, Frederick and Lissa were on one side while he and the prince had been on the other. As the ground rose, it brought molten lava from deep in the earth. The lava had splashed dangerously close, preventing a last-second jump on by the former two Shepherds.

Then, from seemingly nowhere, two of these strange enemies had appeared, distracting them from finding a way to immediately regroup.

Robin remembered clearly their stocky builds and the unnatural speed at which they ran at them. When Robin blocked a sword swing from one with his own bronze sword, he could still see the black smoke curling from its open mouth, still smell the stench of death it carried. Despite Chrom's coming to his aid, it had taken an exorbitant amount of effort to kill even just one.

It didn't help that, on occasion, a thunder spell would strike at him or Chrom, forcing Robin to counter the attack with his own magic. Whenever the tactician looked to the source of the spell, there would be nothing there but another melee walking corpse. At least the numbers were finally thinning.

"Damn," he panted, checking his tome. There were only a few more runes inscribed within its pages. As he shot off another wind spell, the ink on the paper shriveled up and vanished. At this rate, he'd have to switch to his fire tome—in a forest no less. _Though_ , Robin thought, thinking back to the lava cataclysm they had fled from, _there were worse things._

The tactician glanced at his friend and saw a dark shape charging towards the prince. "Chrom, on your left!" he yelled, and the prince nodded. After dispatching of his current enemy, the blue-haired man spun blindly, trustingly in that direction with his sword, cutting down yet another of the purple-skinned abominations.

As the last of the red-eyed enemies fell to Chrom's blade, the darkened figure that had been casting the occasional spell in their direction sprinted off. At once, the two men gave chase. They leapt over fallen trunks, crusted with moss and dotted with various fungi. They tore through gnarly branches and burly bushes, giving no heed to the scratches received. In hot pursuit, Chrom pulled out Falchion and cut a dead tree in two to provide a shortcut to the fleeing enemy.

Finally, their pursuit came to a sudden standstill as the magic user slowed down with a muffled, breathy curse. Catching his own breath, the white-haired tactician thought he could make out a half-baked prayer in the string of expletives, to some unknown deity.

Robin watched as the enigmatic mage glanced behind at the tall edge of the cliff, and the looming shadow it cast. The earthen walls were steep and unforgiving—a challenge to climb even if one was properly equipped. The only way out was behind Chrom and himself. "Tch," the figure scoffed disdainfully. "Figures that—hoff, hoff—this would still be standing. I thought I would—hoff—last a little bit longer." The voice was low, but undeniably female.

She turned to face the two Shepherds, seeming to accept her fate. Her hood still obstructed the upper half of her face, but the lower half was plain as day to see. And right now, the woman's lips were pursed in slight irritation.

"Surrender. You're outmaneuvered with nowhere to run. If you give up now, your life will be spared," Chrom commanded imperiously. Falchion rested in his right hand and pointed resolutely towards the stranger. If it had been anyone else, the glint on the foreboding blade would have been enough to make them think twice about fighting, but this mysterious woman wasn't just anyone. Her lips arranged themselves into a deliberate smirk as she placed one hand on her hip, the other hand still wielding a dark tome.

"Who says I'm—heh—outmaneuvered?" she drawled, "From my point of view, it is you, dear prince, who has been routed. Though, I'll give you a break. There's no way any of you could have ever faced someone like me."

"Wha—" the Ylissean prince made to say, but as if on cue, a frightened, girlish scream resounded through the woods. Chrom stilled, the color draining from his face. The woman chuckled quietly.

"I thought… Frederick…" he murmured, dumbfounded and momentarily disarmed.

 _That's right, the knight should have been there to protect the healer. To suddenly lose her like that, something must have happened—has happened._ The same feeling of dread that seemed to have overtaken Chrom threatened to do the same to Robin, but the tactician managed to maintain a clear head.

 _Think fast, think fast._ Ignoring his friend briefly, Robin rounded on the cloaked mage. "What have you done with Lissa?" he barked, allowing his anger to ground him. The mysterious figure shrugged. The action was so careless, so inconsiderate of Lissa's life that it set Robin's teeth on edge.

"Nothing. Yet. Just summoned up another Risen and it looks like it found itself a new toy." A slow, wry curve of her lips as the two men took in the information.

She raised a finger. "Rule number one for fighting against a summoner: never expect it to be over until the summoner is dead, or has surrendered," she finished offhandedly. She made a vague gesture in the direction of the scream. "Best be on your way now, Chrom, and stick to the side of the cliff to avoid the lava. From the sounds of it, your dear sister shouldn't have very long before she gets chopped into little princess-sized pieces." She paused. "Oh! If you leave your newest charity case with me for a nice chat, I'll even let you go for free."

The two men shared a glance, weighing her words. It could be a trap designed to further split them apart, but there was always the possibility that she was telling the truth, for some unknown reason. "Robin, I don't like this…" Chrom began.

"…but we can't risk it. There's too much at stake. Go," finished Robin in a hard voice. "Save Lissa and find Frederick. I'll take care of this one."

Chrom nodded and bright blue eyes shot him a look that cautioned _be careful._ The snowy-haired tactician tilted his head at his comrade, signaling that he saw. _I know,_ the action replied.

And he was gone in a flurry of bright white from his cape and deep navy from his hair. After a few seconds, even the conspicuous figure the prince cut against the dim trees disappeared. Alone, the Shepherd tactician rounded on the woman.

"All right, it's just the two of us. Who are you and what do you want?" Robin demanded, glaring daggers. Questions danced on the tip of his tongue, but he held himself back. The sooner this conversation was over, the sooner they could end this little chat.

 _And,_ Robin thought to himself, _the sooner I can see the others safely._

She was quiet for a second. There was no sound except for the howling of the wind through the trees. Robin half-expected the voice in his head to pipe up, but nothing from that end either, so he studied his opponent pensively. With a start, he took note that her outfit was almost an exact mirror of his, from the golden embellishments on the cloak, to the make of the striped shirt, and the shape of her boots. Added to that fact was that the longer he stared at this woman, the more familiar she seemed. But she was not familiar in the way that past acquaintances were, rather, she felt like a forgotten dream. She was the first to break the silence to answer his question.

"I am Morgan. Despite your… issues with memory and dislike of me, I trust you can remember at least that," the woman—no, Morgan—responded. Careful to give him an angle, she purposefully stashed her tome inside her clothes and shifted to reveal her still-sheathed smallsword. As she spoke, her easy, sarcastic smile seemed to Robin a bit strained. "And I meant what I said. I actually wanted to speak with you, Robin, as an old friend."

The tactician's eyes widened at her words before narrowing in suspicion. Her actions thus far suggested otherwise, yet here they were, talking, and here she was in a cloak that greatly resembled the one he wore. "How do you know my name and that my memories are gone?" he queried, keeping his spellbook drawn. Questions, questions, so many questions.

Though the female dark mage had yet to resume her attack and had even assumed an almost cordial stance, Robin remained on guard. He didn't like the strangeness surrounding this woman, but she seemed to have answers to the questions he'd been asking himself. It seemed best to hear her out, at least for now.

She seemed to be debating with herself on how to answer, before eventually one side won out and ended with her shaking her head lightly. "Right now, the ah, how doesn't matter. It will all be revealed in due time. Let it suffice that I just do."

"I'm here to warn you: you may think you have allies in the Shepherds, but be careful. Your enemies are closer than you think. Don't give your trust so easily to others, least of all to yourself." Morgan's breath caught on a couple of words and she looked considerably paler than she had just a few moments before. Her skin was as close to alabaster as it could probably get, and a drop of sweat dripped from her chin. Robin thought he caught her wince a touch.

And her words… they were certainly ominous, but at the same time decidedly vague. He didn't know quite what to make of this woman.

Morgan tilted her head up and sighed at the sunny sky. Her hands dug into the cloak's many pockets, and her posture took on a tired stance. From this new angle, Robin could see the strong jut of her chin, and the frown that rested on her lips. Her eyes remained obscured in the hood's shadows, but Robin had the feeling that if they weren't, he would be privy to a great melancholy.

However, there was something strange about the woman that had nothing to do with her manner of speaking and acting. Robin couldn't quite place it, even as his eyes searched from the top of her head to the bottom tips of her cloak, a covering that very much resembled his own.

Then the moment passed as Morgan straightened and donned that same sardonic smile. "Well, we should both get going," she stated, already backing away even though there was nothing behind her but the cliff. Her impromptu dismissal irked him. And there was that peculiarity again, pestering him from the corners of his mind.

She was quiet—too quiet in a forest littered with fallen twigs, cracked leaves, and moist earth. Where her footsteps landed came only silence.

Momentarily ignoring the oddity, Robin murmured a few incantations and arcane flames flickered to life between his fingertips. They danced wildly inside his left hand, begging to be released, but never once did they singe his glove. It was with a hard look that he addressed the retreating mage.

"No, you are staying right here. We're not finished yet. You say you're a friend, but last I checked, friends don't try to kill each other. I cannot forgive you for putting the others in danger," he said darkly, preparing to fight.

"Then it's a good thing that there's nothing to forgive me for." At his raised eyebrow, Morgan's lips thinned and continued, "Don't you know? In the great plays, the major players never die in the beginning." Her tone was sarcastic and biting, resentful, even, but her words gnawed on an unseen enemy, rather than him. "And, if my theory proves to be correct, another player should just have appeared. Good bye, Robin. Think on what I've said, for this will not be the last time you see me, Morgan."

In a blink of an eye, the woman vanished, but not before Robin shot off a particularly potent blast of fire. The projectile went straight through her image and puffed out into nonexistence, and Robin realized that the female mage, Morgan, had never been there at all.

He thinks he hears a faint chuckling.

* * *

A/N I had a funny thought while writing this: the strangeness with Morgan was that she had no feet, ha-ha. Other than that, this chapter didn't feel as good as the previous ones, but that's what I get for not writing in a long time. Rusty.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N I dislike fics that just take scenes from a game and put it into words. That being said, I'm a complete hypocrite. This chapter just wraps up the events from the previous chapter so I can move on to other stuff. Everyone: thanks for the support, and happy spring break. I don't own Fire Emblem or any of its alternate timeline forms.

* * *

"Milady, please remain within running distance of me, but stay hidden. Movement is limited here with my horse. There are too many to defend against in this forest, so I will draw them out to the edges. Heal me only when I can rush in front of you right after," he told the blonde princess sternly. To his relief, Lissa only nodded once, accepting his judgment completely with a determined purse of her lips. Good.

"Okay, I'm right behind you!" she chirped.

He mounted his stallion once more. Then, with a battle cry to draw attention, he rode out.

In his wake trailed several of the red-eyed humanoids and he felt small satisfaction of that fact. When he had reached a clearing, he turned upon his pursuers with lance in hand.

One, two, three of the abominations flanked him. Frederick quickly took stock of their weaponry and was secretly relieved that none of them carried any axes. While he was a well-trained knight—one of the best in Ylisse—he was not so foolhardy that he would pick a fight with too many disadvantages. He was besought on all sides by enemies, but that was all right with him. More of these monsters paying attention to him meant that his charges and that tactician would have that much of an easier time picking them off. The knight wore a single-minded look on his face as he eyed each one of his foes down. Then, without warning, he struck at one of the sword-wielders.

The sword knight knocked aside Frederick's weapon and went forward for an attack of its own. Thinking quickly, the Shepherd yanked the reins of the horse sideways at the last second. His mount reared to the left and the enemy stumbled in the dirt from its failed attack. Frederick glared at it.

"Now!" he grunted, and lunged. With a final sweep of his lance, he pierced through the foe's armor as if it were made of paper. For a moment, the crimson lights of the monster's eyes flickered, and then they vanished along with the rest of the body in a smoky cloud. Frederick frowned and brought his lance back to his side. It was time to pay the others the attention they were due.

As he fought, his motions remained precise and deliberate, but his mind went off on a tangent of its own.

These fights were what Frederick had diligently trained his whole life for, but this battle unsettled him. The enemies that had just fallen to him were unlike any other that he had ever fought or seen. From what he had seen of them underneath the armor, their skin was a pale sickly purple of all shades of darkness. They hadn't spoken, but the grunts of pain that escaped them were guttural and inhuman. What really disturbed the knight though were their eyes as they glowed a distinctive blood red, and the way that they… died. But perhaps death was too simple or too wrong of a term to describe how the enemies' bodies had gone up in purple smoke.

It was undoubtedly magic, but Frederick had never seen any magic such as this.

As the last of them fell to his lance, Frederick sighed and decided to think about it later with his liege, and perhaps the newest Shepherd. His chestnut-brown hair was falling into sweaty clumps in front of his eyes. He impatiently brushed them aside with an armored hand, but as he did so, he glimpsed something that turned his blood cold.

A flicker of yellow danced into his vision and he started. _Lissa?_ he thought frantically. _But you're supposed to be…_ He glanced behind him and saw nothing but the trees of the forest. Her iconic figure had disappeared just as quickly as it came. However, there was no denying what the knight knew he saw.

"Hiya!" He flicked the reins, riding speedily towards the river. Again, there was that same sunshine yellow against the green of the landscape, and it was sprinting further and further away from him. Behind the figure were two of the mysterious enemies giving chase, or at least running in the same direction.

Lissa was alone, unprotected, and decidedly incapable of defending herself against multiple enemies. If he were any less-experienced, if he had lacked any bit of his training, he would have tensed up in fear and worry. But Frederick wasn't, and with a hard set of his jaw, he galloped towards his female charge, hoping against all odds that he would make it in time.

* * *

Lissa ran as fast as she could through the woods.

Her heart beat painfully hard against her chest and her legs protested from the exertion. Meanwhile, low-hanging branches and high-reaching brush whipped her face, but she ignored the pain and forged onwards. To do anything else would mean certain death, she knew, as she glanced backwards at the running corpse behind her.

 _Were corpses even supposed to run that fast?_

The worst happened. Her foot caught in a snag on the forest floor and the next thing the Ylissean princess knew, she was sailing through the air. She landed on her side and the side of her face smarted from the painful landing. "Oh, owie…" she groaned, rubbing her face and tasting blood on her bottom lip. "Oh no, my staff…"

 _Where was it, where was it…_ A patch of silver glinted invitingly from the dirt a way off and she flailed on the ground towards it.

Her pursuer took the opportunity to advance until it was nearly upon her. It moaned, reaching out a hand to grab her dress. In the dim forest lighting, Lissa could see the glowing red of its eyes, and the utter emotionless and inhuman quality that lay in them.

"Lissa!" she heard Chrom yell. His voice was strong and loud, but carried fear and lacked volume. Her eyes flicked towards her elder brother, taking in his small shape. Though Chrom was sprinting as fast as humanely possible, it was obvious that he was too far away. He wouldn't make it in time.

Lissa shrieked and held out her staff as a feeble defense. Expecting the worst, she closed her eyes. _I'm sorry big bro._

* * *

Adriane had sensed the Risen's presence long before the cataclysm tore the ground in two. She'd grown up around them her entire life, after all. She knew when something was watching her, and the gazes of the dead was nothing like that of the living. The first that ran into had been an undead sage. With its lower jaw just about crumbling off its face, it had stared at her silently, intently, deliberately. Adriane had tried to approach it, but as soon as she had taken a step forward, the sage disappeared. At the end of the day, the Risen were composites of magic summoned from some dark void. There had to be someone around making them appear and disappear on command. Where there are Risen, there are Grimleal, and where there are Grimleal, there may have been a way back to Master Grima.

For the past hour, the young woman had been circling the woods trying to find the one responsible for the Risen. Her efforts proved futile, though not from lack of effort, and Adriane was convinced that whoever brought these Risen didn't know who she was, what her true colors were.

And then the gushing lava forced her deep into the forest, where she spied a pig-tailed girl trip on an outstretched root.

She barely made it.

Wham!

Fast as lightning, the axe swung down and collided with the flat of her blade. Adriane stumbled slightly from the brunt of the force, but just barely held her ground. It took all her willpower not to falter and just push the Risen away from this _stupid_ , _careless_ woman who surely had a death wish.

Lissa was very, very lucky.

It had been a split-second decision on Adriane's part to abandon her pursuit of the mystery summoner and save Lissa, but she was convinced that it this was the right choice. Without her there, the woman would have been dead long before Adriane could meet the older version of her in the future, and the blue-haired woman wasn't about to go about screwing with the timeline.

As much as she dearly wanted to, for all the trouble these people caused.

"Ngh," she grunted out, offering as much resistance against the Risen as she could muster. It was all she could do to keep her foe in place.

Lissa stared at her reluctant savior with wide eyes and trembled in fear—Adriane knew she could expect no aid from her end. _She really is an idiot_ , Adriane thought venomously. From her left peripheral she spotted a flowing white cape. _Another one? Probably just staring in shock like the one in front me._ The axe-wielder pressed with even more force. Her knees threatened to buckle and her arms spoke mutiny in their trembling.

Swallowing her pride, Adriane flicked her head to the left and barked out, "Help!"

Facing him, she could see that it was a man whose navy hair color rivaled her own. At Adriane's plea, he seemed to have recovered his senses and nodded once. Sword drawn, the man rushed at the Risen unit with a mighty roar, distracting the enemy for just a moment. A moment was all she really needed.

Adriane gave one last final push to throw the red-eyed abomination off-balance. Then, with a half-spin to reposition herself, she brought the stolen sword into a downwards slash. Her weapon found purchase in the Risen's abdomen, going in and out with a satisfactory swish. One blow could not have felled a Risen of that caliber, but the undead dusted all the same. Confused, she looked through the mist and saw the navy-haired man with his sword in the same ending position.

Judging from the way this man had yelled out Lissa's name, he was probably with the woman and the knight. _Well, at least he's not completely useless like that Frederick-knight of his is_ , Adriane privately admitted to herself. She sensed no more enemies nearby, so she straightened and sheathed her sword.

Now, with Lissa safe and the future preserved, Adriane allowed herself a moment to scout the field for any other enemies—other than the two that stood close to her, ignorant as they were of her true stance. Her recent actions could hardly give away her real hatred, but all the same Adriane prayed forgiveness from Grima for helping the enemy. He would understand, surely. Anything she would do was for the future they held, after all.

Her grey eyes continued to scan the horizon intently, but still she registered the stranger speaking.

"That was quite an entrance," he said gruffly, slightly out of breath. She ignored him and continued searching around, hand perpendicular to her forehead. A tree got in the way of a hill. She took a few steps to the right to change her vantage point.

There were no more Risen, and certainly no sign of the summoner, or anyone responsible for the presence of the Risen. Was there even a reason for their appearance? She saw none, nothing, and felt her hopes dashed. The Grimleal summoner was gone, and with that person went Adriane's hopes of a quick reunion with Master Grima.

She sighed heavily.

"What's your name?" That blasted man was talking again. Did he seriously expect her to answer him? She didn't have much time to waste on these Ylisseans, but maybe if she answered him, he would leave her alone. Telling the truth… might have negative consequences, but she'd been lying through her teeth for the past forty-eight hours, what was a little more? A name helpfully offered itself to her mind.

"Morgan," she responded curtly. The lie passed through her lips with just a little difficulty.

Adriane didn't deign to give this Chrom any more information, but studied him briefly. His strange, lopsided armor, his distinctive hair color-nothing about him ringed any bells. She'd never seen nor heard of this man in the future. As far as the young warrior was concerned, he was probably dead long before it would matter to her.

When her eyes finally met his, it seemed that he had observing her just as closely. Chrom's eyes carried an expression of realization that made her feel self-conscious. They studied her form and rested on her face and hair. They asked questions and demanded answers silently. Instead of a response, she just gave him an unconcerned look and placed her hand on the hilt of her sword. Then, with purposeful steps, she walked away.

Soft fingers wrapped her wrist. "Hey! Wait!" called out a high-pitched voice. Lissa again.

The blue-haired woman halted, but did not turn around completely; Lissa took that as invitation to continue. The man named Chrom remained just as silent as Adriane herself, but she could nevertheless feel the intensity of his gaze upon her back. It only took her a moment to compose herself.

"Now what do you want?" she snapped, finally yanking her hand away and crossing her arms irately.

The healer looked at her, surprised at the reaction. Then, "I… I just wanted to say thanks, really," Lissa began shyly. "You didn't have to help there, and I wasn't expecting you to show up right then, but I'm really glad you did. Without you, Morgan, I would have gotten really hurt, or even died!" Gratitude was rushing out of the young princess, and there was nothing blocking the sincerity of her words, not even the false name in the message.

Adriane felt strange. Her chest felt tight, as if ropes were tied around it—not enough to hurt, but enough to mess up her breathing a mite. She experienced the same constriction in her throat. Maybe she was choking. Did she swallow something? She coughed awkwardly, but there was nothing there, and the sensation remained. The grey-eyed woman tried speaking, "I— "

Her words were drowned out by Lissa's grateful chatter. "So, before you go," the younger woman was saying, "Morgan, I want you to take this. As a sign of my gratitude. If we ever meet again, or if there's ever a chance for me to return the favor, use this. Here." A weak force tugged at her arm, urging her to turn around. She complied, but Adriane would not have done so if she hadn't felt so stunned.

A small, cloth object pressed into her palm. Upon closer inspection, Adriane realized it was a handkerchief. Silken, white, and soft to the touch, the handkerchief was embellished with a gold border and the initials 'L.Y.' on the bottom right corner. The 'L.' most likely stood for Lissa, but the 'Y.' was unfamiliar to her. Overall, the cloth accessory was girlish, and decidedly one of the prettiest things Adriane had ever seen in her life.

What does she hope to accomplish with this? Surely this Lissa can't expect her to just accept this thing, did she?

 _She's mocking me,_ Adriane decided, wanting an answer and grasping at straws for one. _And even if she weren't, this must be some ploy to win over my trust._ The blue-haired woman recalled how even the older, crazed version of Lissa had attempted to win her affections and loyalty. Her behavior then was similar to how it was now. Her lips thinned, and the corners of her mouth dug deep into a frown.

 _No_ , she thought, _show a little more control._

"Thank you," Adriane responded stiffly, the confusion and habitual anger covered by a thin veil of conventional decorum. Her hand savagely bunched up the fabric and stuffed it into a vacant pocket. "But if fate is kind, we will never see each other again. From now on, we owe each other nothing. Do yourselves a favor and just forg— "

The crunching of leaves and muffling of voices from the right caught her attention. Where there Risen? Her eyes darted to the side and caught two dark shapes. They were too far away to see clearly, but Adriane thought she recognized the knight from earlier. The second figure was shorter and unfamiliar to her, and she had no desire to form any more ties with the present.

"Good, it looks like the two of them made it all right," Chrom remarked with obvious relief. Then his face clouded over with a serious and reprimanding expression, though it was not directed at either of the two women. "Come, Lissa, I need to speak with them. Gods, Frederick and you… you never should have been left alone for so long." He turned to Adriane.

"Morgan, you're welcome to join us if you have nothing to do right now. You seem to know quite a bit about these new enemies," Chrom offered, though his tone was just barely toeing the line between suspicion and openness. His words implied that she knew quite a bit more about the strange situation—unfounded, to be sure, but Adriane was sure she would be just as paranoid.

She shook her head. "No. I have an important mission to carry out and I can't waste any more time. Forget about me," Adriane repeated. She didn't know if she could afford any more interactions with these people. Even speaking with them was dangerous enough. And besides, every second she spent here was more time she could be hunting the other time-travelers before they succeeded in whatever plan they had to take down Master Grima. Not that she actually had much of a plan in the first place…

For what seemed like the thousandth time, Adriane wished that she could see him again, that he were here so that he could just tell her what to do. She would even have taken Teacher Morgan, at this rate, despite the inevitable punishment to her disobedience.

"If that's what you wish. Thank you for helping my sister. Farewell, and safe travels," the man replied evenly, taking the rejection smoothly. The voices had gotten louder; from the furious tone of one of the men and the equally incensed tone of the other, it was quite the heated argument. Chrom glanced at the two, sighed, and dipped his head.

Adriane gave them a stiff nod. She took a few steps backwards and away from them, just enough so that a copse of trees blocked most of their forms. When she was sure that they would not pursue her, she ran.

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A/N I was this close to having Robin and Ad. finally meet. But… another idea came up that sounded kind of cool. Or maybe I'm just scared of what will happen when they do interact. Holy shit if this thing gets finished it's going to be so freaking long…


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